


Crow on the Cradle

by fredbassett



Series: Stephen/Ryan series [70]
Category: Primeval
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-30
Updated: 2013-11-30
Packaged: 2018-01-03 01:31:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 49,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1064087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fredbassett/pseuds/fredbassett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's looking increasingly like the inhabitants of the Anomaly Research Centre aren't the only ones with knowledge of the anomalies, and Lyle's mother has got the scent of a story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

They slipped quietly and quickly through the woodland. Their car was parked over a mile away at the Black Swan. If necessary, the landlord and several other people would confirm that they’d been in the back room all evening playing darts.

It had poured with rain most of the day so the thick mulch of autumn leaves was soft underfoot. It would be difficult to avoid leaving boot prints behind, but they were both wearing army surplus kit bought for cash several hundred miles away and it would all be ditched when they’d finished.

The wall loomed ahead of them in the darkness, three metres tall, topped with several strands of razor wire, encircling an estate of about 7,000 acres. Not quite as big as Longleat but not far off. They’d spent the last two weeks getting ready for this. Their way in was prepared, and all they had to do was brush away the concealing leaves and pull back the plywood cover they’d hidden under a layer of loose earth.

They had the entrance to the tunnel open in a matter of minutes.

Mole grinned in the darkness. Only his mouth and eyes showed behind the black balaclava but Ratty knew the old bugger hadn’t had this much fun since he’d been a tunneller in the road protests at Newbury. He cocked his head on one side, listening. She did the same.

Nothing.

Not even the bark of the dog fox that they’d heard most nights. The silence meant that they were ready to go.

Ratty stood back and waited. It was Mole’s tunnel so he’d go through first, same as he’d always insisted on being at the sharp end when they’d been digging it. Old habits died hard and he knew his business, so she was happy to let him take the lead where holes in the ground were concerned. He pulled a small Petzl head-torch from his pocket, settled the elastic strap around his balaclava and then dropped down into the vertical shaft and quickly disappeared. He wouldn’t turn the torch on until there was no risk of the light being seen and she’d follow his example.

She waited a few moments and then went after him, climbing two metres down the timber planks that shored up the soft earth. Mole had picked a spot where they wouldn’t encounter too many tree roots and Ratty had been pleasantly surprised by how easy the digging had been once they’d got past the stony layer in the first half-metre of ground. This sort of thing was new to her, but she was always up for learning something different. It made a change from running around the countryside with an aniseed drag to confuse the hounds and blowing hunting horns in the faces of the arrogant bastards who thought you couldn’t have a good day out unless it involved watching a pack of dogs rip a living creature to pieces.

The smell of the earth was warm and rich in her nostrils. The disguised plywood cover had kept out most of the rain, so although the floor of the tunnel was damp and sticky with mud she got through easily, turning the torch off before clambering out to join Mole on the other side of the wall, no more than four metres from their starting point.

They were in. Ratty brushed the mud off her black gloves and they quickly hauled the plywood back in place and kicked leaves over it again. A tangle of brambles concealed then from view. The chances of anyone patrolling this close to the perimeter weren’t high. From what she and Mole had observed, the security guards were more interested in the areas around the animal cages and rarely ventured this far out at night. They relied on the fact that their security system would alert them to any attempts to tamper with the wire on top of the walls, which is why they’d opted to go underneath the defences rather than over them.

Ratty sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. She was nervous and Mole would know it, but there was never any macho bullshit from the guy, she liked that about him. He was at least 15 years older than her and had been digging tunnels under protest camps while she was just a kid, yet he never patronised her.

The moon broke out from behind a gap in the thick cloud and illuminated his tobacco-stained teeth as he gave her another of his quick, reassuring grins. He’d done his job and got them inside the wall. Now it was up to her. She had a compass strapped to her wrist and used it to take a bearing through the beech wood. Tonight wouldn’t be a good night to get lost, especially not if they needed to make a hasty exit for any reason.

With Mole as her shadow, Ratty steered a course through the woodland. They would be able to keep under cover of the trees most of the way to the start of the animal enclosures and she knew which ones to avoid. The wolves didn’t give a toss about anyone coming near their area, neither did most of the carnivores, but the monkeys were far too easy to disturb. The macaques were noisy little buggers at the best of times and they’d start jumping around at the least provocation.

The first of the tall fences came into sight. Ratty paused a moment to get her bearings and then gave a quick nod. She knew where they were. Six months of shovelling animal shit here as a teenager had given her a good working knowledge of parts of the park, but she hadn’t often had a reason to come this far out, so she was relying on some out of date images taken off Google Earth. She was conscious of the fact that new enclosures had gone up since her time and after the satellite images had been taken, so there could easily be obstacles she was unaware of.

The first one to present itself was a long stretch of water, which glinted briefly in the moonlight before the gap in the clouds closed up. The three metre tall fencing told her that something was in the enclosure, but she didn’t know what. It could be anything from pelicans to water buffalo.

Ratty changed direction, skirting the artificial lake and staying well back from the fence. Mole didn’t ask any questions. They’d agreed from the outset that she was in charge of this part of the operation. An owl hooted in the trees but apart from that the inhabitants of the park appeared to be asleep. The rucksack containing her camera gear was a comforting weight on her back, a reminder her of what they were there for. She quickly fell into a routine, moving quickly from one patch of shadow to the next, stopping and listening for a few moments while Mole joined her, and then pressing on. They covered the ground quickly and were soon approaching a set of long, low hanger-like sheds. Ratty exchanged glances with Mole and nodded towards the structures. They’d be locked, she was sure of that, but they’d come equipped to deal with that sort of minor problem.

For the first time since they’d entered the grounds, Ratty could hear animal noises. The harsh cry of a large bird was muffled slightly by the corrugated iron of the large sheds, but it was still loud in the darkness. Ratty stiffened for a moment, then made a quick dash across close-mown grass to the rear of one of the buildings, jumping lightly over a gravel path so that the crunch of her boots on the stones wouldn’t give her presence away. Mole followed suit.

The cry came again and then something large slammed against the inside of the structure, rattling the corrugated iron and scraping against it with what sounded like claws. Ratty jumped violently. It sounded like whatever it was had decided to start head-butting the wall no more than a few metres away from her.

“What the fuck is that?” Mole hissed eyeing the shed dubiously.

Ratty shrugged and began to doubt the wisdom of breaking into that particular building, just in case whatever was making the noise was loose inside, rather than being in a pen. She gestured to her companion and started to work her way across the back of the building. An irate shriek from inside brought her to a halt again. It sounded like all hell was starting to break loose, or at the very least, something large and nasty-tempered had decided to pick a fight. The corrugated iron rattled alarmingly and a positive cacophony of sound started up inside.

Bloody hell, if any security guards were out and about, that racket would bring them running, Ratty thought, looking around quickly for any cover to shield them from prying eyes. A large oak tree a few metres away was about as good as it got, but the trunk was wide enough to provide some shadow while they waited to see if anyone was going to react to the noise.

Sure enough, a few moments later, she heard a voice shouting something on the other side of the shed and the sound of bolts being pulled back. Someone had clearly decided to investigate. Inside the building, the noise was getting worse and amidst the sound of irate squawking and scuffling, Ratty heard the sound of splintering wood.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” The voice came from inside the shed and sounded distinctly rattled.

“Shut the fucking door!” A second voice rose in alarm.

A moment later, Ratty heard the noise of a metal door being barged open and the scrabbling of paws of claws on the beaten earth as something made a dash for freedom.

A volley of startled curses told her that whatever it was had been successful. Metal clanged on metal as the two men obviously tried to close the door and bolt it again, but it sounded very much like something had decided to start head-butting the door again with considerable force. More swearing was followed by the sudden pounding of feet as a second creature succeeded in pushing past the two men. A triumphant squawk and a sudden yell of pain signalled another problem for the two security guards and in the scuffle that followed it sounded to Ratty that at least another couple of animals had got out in the resulting chaos.

“We’ve got a break-out!” a voice declared loudly, and Ratty heard the static crackle of a radio as someone answered. “Yeah, at least four of them, from the holding sheds… we need back-up and we need it now! Johnson’s hurt, one of the fuckers has taken a chunk out of his arm…”

More swearing told Ratty that Johnson wasn’t exactly happy about what had happened either. He was alternating moaning and cursing with demands for the other man to do something.

“They’re on their way,” his companion told him. “Let me look at that… Jesus Christ!”

“Nice bedside manner,” Mole murmured in Ratty’s ear. “Get your camera out. There might be some mileage in this.”

She shot him a quick grin. They’d have to make sure that they didn’t end up having a run-in with whatever had just attacked the guard, but by the sound of it, the animals had bolted, so a few shots of the injured man wouldn’t be a bad thing. Even if it only got evidence of a few Health and Safety violations it would be better than nothing, and they could always come back on a quieter night, provided no one caught on to what they were up to.

Ratty pulled the video camera out of her pack and switched it on. It would pick up sound as well, but she’d need to get closer. “Stay here,” she murmured to Mole before breaking cover and making a dash for the side of the building and working her way forwards.

She could hear sobs from the injured man now and his companion’s attempts to keep him calm while help arrived. A quick glance around the side of the building showed her that both men had their backs to her and she was able to shoot some film before the approach of a vehicle sent her back under cover.

A black Range Rover pulled up and amidst a flurry of slamming car doors a voice drawled, “What the fuck have you two clowns been playing at?” Ratty had spent a holiday with a friend in Houston and recognised the accent as being from Texas. The man sounded both irritated and unsympathetic.

“The birds were going berserk. I thought we ought to take a look,” the security guard said defensively, adding quickly, “Johnson’s hurt!”

“Don’t change the subject, Harris. I’ve called Frankie, she’s on her way. You were told to stay out of the shed, but you had to go rubber-necking, didn’t you?”

“Frankie’s a fucking vet!”

“Yeah, whatever. Get him back to the house while we clean up your mess. And if any of the birds get damaged, Mr Mason ain’t gonna be pleased.”

A sharp intake of breath told Ratty someone had hauled the unfortunate Johnson to his feet and a few moments later the slam of two car doors and a revving engine told her that the two men had no intention of hanging around.

“Get catchpoles and nets,” the Texan ordered. “I want those birds back and I want them alive. No way does anyone use live rounds on ‘em, they’re more valuable than you lot, got that?”

A chorus of assent greeted the man’s words.

Ratty cautiously edged her way back to the corner and went down on one knee, the lens of the video camera poking around the corner, angled upwards in the hope of capturing some useful images. She dared a quick peek and saw a man pull a hand-held radio out of one of the pockets of his jacket and thumb the switch.

“Ricky, it’s Dewar. Get the rest of the tranq guns from the store and meet me by the holding sheds. Harris is on his way back with Johnson. Tell Frankie I want him patched up here, no hospitals, understand? The boss will make it worth her while… yeah, Johnson ain’t exactly happy, but he’ll live. Pull the rest of the guys out of bed, those buggers can cover the ground and I need everyone we’ve got out here. All four are out.”

Oh shit, it was just their luck to have broken in on a night when something else seemed to have been determined to break out, Ratty thought, backing up slowly and carefully. The place was going to be swarming with security in a matter of minutes, so the sooner she made a tactical withdrawal with Mole the better.

“Time to go?” Mole asked quietly when she made it back to the oak tree.

She nodded. Much as she wanted to hang about and get the evidence they’d come for, on this occasion discretion was definitely the better part of valour and they’d have enough problem dodging the guards as it was, let alone avoiding whatever the hell had broken out. She’d heard birds mentioned, but even something the size of an ostrich wasn’t capable of taking a chunk out of someone’s arm. They had a kick like a mule and could give you a nasty peck, but Johnson, the injured security guard had been covered in blood when she’d seen him helped into the car, so it had been more than a peck.

“Be careful,” she muttered. “I don’t know what they’ve been keeping in there, but by the look of it, that bloke’s arm was laid open to the bone.”

Mole winced. “Nice. OK, while matey over there is waiting for his guns, let’s get the hell out of here and tidy up after us.”

The adrenaline surging through her system made Ratty jumpy and any noise had her looking around for cover as she struggled to get her bearings in the darkness with the aid of the compass and make their way back to the tunnel under the wall.

She knew there were at least ten members of the security team and for all she knew the call for back-up could have mobilised other workers as well. Speed was now imperative. A stretch of open ground lay between them and the next patch of undergrowth. They’d just have to be fast. Clutching the video camera tightly in her hand, Ratty took off with Mole behind her. He obviously kept himself in good shape as he was breathing no more heavily than she was.

Ratty was only a few paces from the small coppice of trees she was aiming for when a dark shape sprinted out towards her. The scream was out of her mouth before she could bite it back but somehow she kept hold of the camera, swinging it up defensively in front of her.

An even louder scream drowned out any noise she made. A powerful beak opened and lunged at her. For fuck’s sake, where the hell had they found an ostrich that size? The bloody thing was nearly three metres tall, towering over both her and Mole. A head almost as long as her forearm weaved around in front of her and struck at her face. She fell back, trying to scrabble away. The head was too big for an ostrich, way too big…

A yell from Mole distracted it and Ratty clambered to her feet.

“Run!” Mole ordered, sounding surprisingly calm for a man facing something that had very nearly succeeded in taking her face off.

Ratty didn’t need telling twice. She started running again, hoping Mole would follow her. She’d dropped the camera when the thing had lunged at her, but there was no way she was going back for it. The sound of her own breathing was harsh in her own ears as Ratty sprinted for the wall. She heard another yell, not Mole’s voice this time and knew they’d been spotted.

“They’re on to us,” Mole panted, drawing level with her.

She grunted in return and kept running. She could hear large feet hammering on the ground behind her and the breaking of twigs as something came barrelling through the undergrowth no more than a few paces behind them. Brambles caught at her clothing and Ratty felt her jeans rip and something snag at her skin, but she kept running. She could see the wall now, looming ahead of her out of the darkness, but what she didn’t know was how close to the tunnel they were and there was no way she could stop to look at the compass on her wrist.

Behind her, Mole gave a sudden grunt of pain and she heard the crack of breaking wood and something heavy hitting the ground. Ratty half-turned, still running. Mole was sprawled on his stomach with one of the birds standing over him. The powerful beak was open and it was poised to strike at him. She whirled around, shrugging the rucksack off her shoulders and grabbed one of the straps, swinging the bag at the creature. It struck out at her instead and the curved tip of the heavy beak succeeded in dragging the rucksack out of her hand, but at least it gave Mole chance to crawl away and drag himself to his feet.

Blood was dripping from a gash on his forehead. Mole dashed it away from his eyes and looked around for a weapon. A fallen branch was too rotten to make an effective club, but it did act as another distraction when he poked it in the creature’s face.

“Go!” Mole’s voice still sounded unnaturally calm and Ratty wondered how the hell he managed it. She’d just come very close to pissing herself with fright.

“Not without you!”

“Just fucking run and I’ll be behind you!”

“Get down!” yelled another voice. “On the ground, now!”

The security guards were close enough to see them now and Ratty heard the click of a rifle bolt being drawn back.

“No fucking chance!” Mole muttered. He chucked the rest of the piece of wood in his hand at the bird, grabbed Ratty’s sleeve and started to run. An irate shriek from their assailant told her that their exit strategy hadn’t met with the bird’s approval.

The wall was only metres away now but Ratty couldn’t see the marker she’d been aiming for, a lone beech tree with an enormous bole. Without that they wouldn’t find the tunnel. She stared around desperately then suddenly pitched forward, her foot caught by a trailing bramble. She rolled, trying to come up on her knees but something hard hit her shoulder and knocked her back down.

A cry of pain told her that something had caught up with Mole as well. Her hands scratched at the leaf mould for something to throw, but came up empty. She rolled and rolled again as a vicious beak stabbed the ground next to her. There were two of the bloody things now and one of them looked like it was tearing at Mole, making a sort of growling noise that sounded more like a wolf than a bird. She kicked out with one booted foot, yelling loudly.

The terrible head swivelled towards her and a crest of feathers on the bird’s head rose up as it stared at her. The moon chose that moment to come out from behind the clouds again leaving Ratty staring up into a pair of large, angry eyes.

The bird opened its beak and let out a hoarse cry, lunging forward, beak open…

Ratty’s bladder chose that particular moment to let her down to the accompaniment of another cry of pain from Mole.

Her last thought was that she still didn’t know what the hell was trying to kill her.


	2. Chapter 2

Lester stared around at the crowded conference room and nodded in greeting to Ryan and Stephen.

He was pleased to see both men back. Ryan hadn’t yet been cleared for active duty, but at least he was on hand to provide help and advice. As a bonus, the captain had already managed to make a start on the mountain of paperwork that Lyle and Stringer had managed to accumulate between them in his absence. It was good to have Stephen back as well. Ryan’s lover could usually be relied on to at least make a passable attempt at keeping Cutter under control, although Claudia was also become more adept at that, and Lester had begun to have his suspicions that his assistant’s relationship with the irascible academic was now something more than strictly professional.

Lorraine Wickes, Lester’s ever-efficient secretary, had provided tea, coffee and biscuits and Lyle slid a mug across the table to him. Connor was hunched over his laptop, tapping busily away on the keyboard, Cutter was staring around with barely concealed impatience, Ryan was chatting to Claudia with more than his usual degree of animation, and Stephen was lounging in his chair looking like he’d rolled straight out of bed after an extremely energetic bout of sex and hadn’t bothered to tame his hair.

The door opened to admit Abby Maitland. “Sorry I’m late. Joel’s on his way. He’s just had to take a phone call.”

“Thank you for your time, ladies and gentleman,” Lester said, raising his voice just enough to get everyone’s attention. “As I’m sure you’ll all be aware, Captain Ryan has been cleared to return to light duties and, for your information, Lieutenant Owen was quite adamant that the definition of light duties does not extend to chasing refugees from the past. Also, having expended his holiday allocation for at least the next decade, Dr Hart has kindly honoured us with his presence.”

Stephen gave him a lazy grin and leaned even further back in his chair.

Before Lester had chance to go any further, the door opened again and Joel Stringer wandered in, dressed casually in faded jeans, his non-regulation length dark hair brushing the collar of an open-necked blue shirt. He looked like he hadn’t shaved in several days, although a quick glance around the room told Lester that Captain Stringer wasn’t the only officer who appeared to have mislaid his razor.

“Sorry, sir,” Stringer remarked in a cut-glass accent that belied his formative years in one of Liverpool’s more notorious slum districts. Stringer’s file – what Lester had seen of it – made interesting reading, but the same could be said of all the soldiers who made up the ARC’s military contingent. The Special Forces captain settled into a chair next to Abby and took the coffee she’d poured for him.

“Edward Mason,” Lester announced, tapping the file on the table in front of him.

Stringer’s eyes narrowed and he sat up straighter in his chair. A flash of recognition crossed Abby’s gamine face as well. The name was clearly known to both of them.

Lester raised his eyebrows. “Would the pair of you care to share your knowledge of the gentleman with us?”

“He runs a private zoo in Kent,” Abby supplied, glancing sideways at Stringer, apparently surprised that the name had elicited a reaction from the soldier. “He’s very keen on breeding programmes for endangered species. He had a lot of involvement with the report the Zoos Forum produced last year on the snow leopard breeding programmes.”

“Captain Stringer?”

“Poacher turned gamekeeper,” Stringer remarked. “Or so he’d like to have people believe. He used to spend a lot of time chasing foxes around the countryside and shooting big game in Africa.”

Abby nodded. “He used to hunt with the Beaufort then gave it up in favour of animal welfare and conservation.”

“I once had the pleasure of tipping him off a horse in the middle of a very muddy field,” Stringer grinned, alluding, Lester knew, to his early days as a hunt saboteur. “He was a right bastard. Rode his horse into a group of protesters once and put a friend of mine in hospital with a broken leg. There were kids there as well. Mason didn’t give a sod who got hurt.”

“You seem less than convinced by his newly-acquired conservation ethics, Captain,” Lester commented. “Do you have any recent evidence to back up your natural tendency towards cynicism?”

“Leopards don’t change their spots, sir,” Stringer replied. “No matter how many bloody breeding programmes you care to put them through. I lost track of him a few years ago, but someone I trusted told me that Mason had been seen bagging game in Rwanda several years after his so-called road to Damascus moment.”

Lester raised an enquiring eyebrow at Abby.

“There were rumours,” she agreed. “Quite strong ones. Mason’s made a couple of attempts at getting onto the Zoos Forum, but the appointments committee has always turned him down on the basis of a possible conflict of interest as he runs his own zoo. The Zoo Forum’s an independent advisory body that deals with zoo licensing,” she clarified. “I came across Mason a few times when I was working at Wellington. I can’t say I liked him.”

At Lester’s side, Lyle shifted slightly in his chair, listening intently. Ever since Lyle’s mother had casually dropped Mason’s name into after-dinner conversation several weeks ago in London, Lester had been making discreet enquiries about the man and had gradually discovered that he was being blocked – politely but effectively – at every turn. Mason clearly had friends in high places.

Ryan’s phone call from Cumbria with the information that Mason had apparently sent a gang of armed thugs to steal some prehistoric animals being kept as pets in an anomaly-infested area of Cumbria had provided the final motivation that Lester had needed to get involved. Mason had now come to Lester’s attention twice in relatively quick succession and whether his political paymasters liked it or not, that wasn’t something he was prepared to ignore.

“Why are you interested in Mason, sir?” Stringer asked, clearly voicing the question that everyone else was thinking.

“His name has cropped up twice recently,” Lester replied. “And I don’t believe in coincidence.”

“Three times,” said Stringer softly. “Mason was the reason I was late for this meeting.”

Lester raised both eyebrows this time. Three times was definitely beyond the realm of coincidence. He nodded at Stringer to continue.

“An old friend of mine wants to see me,” Stringer supplied. “He didn’t want to say too much on the phone, but it was about something his daughter had been up to on Mason’s land. I served with Dan Ratcliffe in Iraq. He was a sergeant in the bomb disposal squad. Lost a leg and a hand to an IED. Good bloke. I owe him one.”

“Then I suggest you find out what he wants to talk to you about,” Lester said smoothly. “Take the rest of the day off. Would your friend be willing to talk freely in the presence of Miss Maitland?”

“He will, if I vouch for her,” Stringer said.

Lester hesitated for a moment and then continued, “Mason is well-connected. I’m sure this goes without saying, but be careful, Stringer. I’ve been warned off him in no uncertain terms.”

Stringer’s answering smile was wolfish but Lester knew perfectly well that the soldier was used to flying under the radar. All the Special Forces contingent were.

“So are you going to tell us what you know, Lester?” Cutter demanded impatiently.

“Patience is a virtue, Professor,” Lester sighed theatrically. “However, in a nutshell, Mr Mason appears to have recently developed a taste for some rather esoteric pets.” Lester quickly summarised Ryan’s report on the incident that had resulted in his early return from sick leave.

“How the hell did he know that the creatures were there?” Cutter commented when he’d finished.

“There’s nothing about any weird animals around there on any of the cryptozoology sites,” commented Connor, still tapping at his laptop keyboard. “Or anywhere else, as far as I can see.”

Lester had asked Connor to do some background checks an hour ago, and if anything had been in the public domain, he had no doubt that Cutter’s young protégé would have been able to find it.

“I have absolutely no idea, Cutter,” Lester admitted. “But I intend to make it my business to find out.”

* * * * *

Lester closed the door of his office and frowned at his lover. “Jon, what are the chances of your mother coming clean and telling us what she knows?”

“About as good as the chances of Cutter remembering anyone’s birthday without a memo in triplicate. She’s a tabloid hack. She makes my mad godmother’s beagles look tractable when she’s on the scent of a story.”

“I didn’t know you had a mad godmother,” Lester commented. “Is anyone in your family sane, Jon?”

“Probably not,” Lyle admitted. “I’ve been working up to telling you that she’s summoned the pair of us to lunch at some point. Auntie Madge worked with my mother on the Daily Vile years ago. She was the fashion editor when mother was doing a column for them before they kicked her off for being too liberal. Mother, that is, not Auntie Madge. Her politics are somewhat to the right of Attila the Hun. Madge stuck it for another couple of years then retired to the country to breed fancy rats.”

“You’re making this up.”

Lyle spread his hands in a mock-innocent gesture. “No word of a lie, sweetie. She took a rat to a fashion show once and the little bleeder ended up going for a ride on one of Stella McCartney’s hats. Auntie Madge swears to this day that’s where some guy got the idea from for roadkill hats.”

Lester resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Will Auntie Madge know what your mother is up to? If we don’t make some headway on this one soon, you’re going to have scratched your bloody thumbs to the bone.”

“Not a cat in hell’s chance,” Lyle said ruefully. “She’s as bad as my sodding mother.”

“Tell her we’re free for lunch any time,” Lester instructed.

He knew perfectly well that he was clutching at straws, but Lyle wasn’t the only one who was uneasy.

As it turned out, Auntie Madge wasn’t answering her phone so that idea had to be put on ice until she was. And five minutes on the internet after Lyle had gone off to oil his guns, or whatever the Special Forces soldiers did when they were waiting for an anomaly to enliven their day, had proved conclusively that Auntie Madge – or celebrated fashion writer Margaret Boulter, as she was otherwise known – did indeed exist and now maintained one of the country’s largest websites dedicated to fancy rats. Until Lyle had mentioned them, he hadn’t even known that there were such things, but Ed Mason clearly wasn’t the only person interested in exotic pets. The internet was nothing if not educational.

Lester had a feeling that lunch might well prove to be an interesting experience, even if he didn’t end up any the wiser about the activities of Lyle’s mother. He’d just have to hope that Stringer’s contacts would be more inclined to share whatever intelligence they’d gathered on Mason’s activities.


	3. Chapter 3

For all the pub’s cheerful exterior it seemed to be the sort of place where non-locals were greeted with cool stares and blank looks, and although the man behind the bar had a smile on his face, Abby could see that it lacked warmth.

A moment after they’d stepped through the door, a large man with cropped dark hair and an equally short beard shot with grey slid down off a stool, a wide grin on his face. “Joel, long time no see, mate.” The grin broadened. “Still can’t get your fucking hair cut or shave properly, can you, you lazy bastard?”

Abby watched as Stringer pulled the other man into a hug, grinning widely. A moment later, he stepped back and gestured to Abby. “Dan, this is my friend, Abby Maitland. Abby, Dan Ratcliffe’s the guy who saved my arse more times that I care to remember when I was still wet behind the ears.”

“I’ve had worse Ruperts,” Ratcliffe commented. “At least you had enough fucking sense to do as you were told. Come on, let’s get a drink and go through into the back room.”

At the man’s greeting, the atmosphere in the room thawed noticeably. They received a genuine smile from the landlord and nods from the other customers, and Abby’s discomfort lessened almost immediately, but she was left wondering why strangers were met with such obvious distrust.

The back room turned out to be what Abby’s grandmother used to refer to as a ‘snug’. It was a small room with chairs and stools grouped about low tables, with a dart board on one wall and a few mismatched pictures on another. In spite of the smoking ban, the room still smelled faintly of cigarettes and the yellowing walls and ceiling told the tale of how much tobacco had been smoked there in the past.

Dan Ratcliffe held a chair out for Abby and then settled down on a stool. He hesitated for a moment and glanced at Abby.

“Anything you want to say to me can be said in front of Abby, Dan. We work together.”

Ratcliffe raised his eyebrows but seemed to relax slightly. “Remember my daughter?”

“Little Ellie? Used to sit on my knee and make me read Tales of the sodding Riverbank until I was bloody hoarse?”

Ratcliffe grinned. “Aye. You always were as soft as shit with her.”

The door to the snug opened and a slim, dark-haired girl dressed in tight black trousers and a baggy sweater came in, followed by a man a few years older than Stringer, whose dark, watchful eyes darted around the room before he gave both of them a coolly appraising stare.

Ratcliffe stood up and shook hands with the man, while Stringer stared at the girl in amazement.

“You’ve grown,” he laughed, pulling her into a crushing hug and lifting her off her feet.

Abby smiled at the girl and held out her hand. “I’m Abby Maitland. I’m a friend of Joel’s.”

The girl gave her a friendly smile and shook the proffered hand. “I’m Eleanor, but most people call me Ratty.” She waved a hand at her companion. “This is Mole.”

The pair of them sat down. Eleanor Ratcliffe pushed her hair back from her face and Abby noticed several long, vivid scratches down one cheek. The girl looked as though she’d run straight through a bramble patch without stopping. She glanced at her father and waited for him to speak first.

“Thanks for coming so quickly, Joel.”

“You mentioned Ed Mason,” Stringer said. “I still owe him one for that business near Malmesbury.”

“If I remember rightly you upended him into a pile of cow shit.”

“No more than he deserved,” Stringer grinned. “What’s he been up to now, Dan?”

Ratcliffe looked at Abby again then appeared to make his mind up. “We’ve been watching him for a while,” he said quietly, even though there was no chance of their conversation being overheard. “He’s poured millions into a private zoo that he bought five years ago when the previous owners called in the receivers, even though he only opens it to the public on about half a dozen days a year. The inspections have always come up clean, but no one really trusts the bugger, not with his history. Then he started gradually replacing all the old staff, bit by bit, nothing too obvious, but a year ago, he finally laid off the last of his local labour. Since then, he’s gradually increased the strength of his security staff until he’s got more thugs on the payroll than keepers.”

Abby listened with interest. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard of a private zoo employing security guards, but most places made do with just a couple of guys to make sure that no one broke in and stole any rare breeds or hurt any of the animals, an all too regular and occurrence, unfortunately. But there were other reasons zoos employed security guards. She was developing a suspicion that the man nicknamed Mole was a member of the Animal Liberation Front and, from what she knew of Ed Mason’s past reputation, she wasn’t surprised he’d come to the attention of the ALF.

Stringer raised his eyebrows, inviting his friend to continue but it was Ratcliffe’s daughter who took up the story.

“I did a work experience stint there when I was 18,” she said. “Shovelling shit, mainly, but I did learn a bit about animals. I was thinking of applying to university and becoming a vet, but when push came to shove I couldn’t stand the idea of having to put healthy animals down just because some bugger had got tired of looking after them. The zoo animals were different, more exotic… more… interesting, but then I saw what happened to them when they were kept in cages for too long and that lost its appeal as well.” She stared Stringer in the eye and said, “I decided that I could maybe do more good in other ways. And I remembered the sort of things you used to do.”

Abby watched as Stringer shifted slightly in his chair, clearly not entirely comfortable with the idea of being a suitable role-model for a teenaged girl. Abby’s best guess was that Eleanor – Ratty – Ratcliffe was now in her early 20s, but it was obvious she still looked up to Joel Stringer.

“So what got you interested in Mason?” he asked.

“He’s a shit,” Ratty declared. “And animals started dying when he took the place over. Healthy animals suddenly disappeared, their bodies disposed of before anyone at DEFRA or anywhere else got the chance to take a look.”

Stringer raised his eyebrows enquiringly.

“I think he’s up to his old tricks again, killing things for fun,” she answered. “He’s got a local vet in his pocket, Frankie Hughes. She’s prepared to say they died a natural death and in return, he pays her a big fat sum every time, which our Frankie uses to pay her bills and keep herself in booze. The carcasses are disposed of quickly and that’s it. No one is any the wiser.”

“So you decided to take a closer look at what was going on,” Stringer said and it was a statement not a question.

The girl nodded, shooting a quick look at her companion. “Mason had a lot of building works done in the past year. Bloody great big sheds, from what we could find out. Contractors coming and going at all hours, but again, not local labour. The sheds were classed as temporary structures, so he didn’t need planning permission, but no doubt his mates on the council helped smooth the way for him. I…” Another glance at the other man. “We… decided that we needed a closer look at what was going on in there.”

Stringer grinned. “You’re as bad as your bloody dad.”

Dan Ratcliffe laughed and punched Stringer lightly on the arm with what Abby suddenly realised was a false hand. “You’re one to talk. Who do you think she got half of her bloody ideas from?”

“I obviously didn’t do a good enough job of covering my tracks,” Stringer said ruefully.

“The little madam used to listen at doors when she was meant to have been in bed,” Ratcliffe said, his fond tone belying the words. “Go on, brat, tell him your grand plan.”

“We dug a tunnel under the wall,” Ratty grinned. “That’s where Mole came in.”

A slow smile spread over Stringer’s face. “Newbury bypass, I presume?”

“You were there?”

Stringer nodded. “Spent most of my time there above ground rather than under it. I used to do a lot of climbing, so I was happier in the trees.”

“Which camp?” the man called Mole asked, obviously testing Stringer, even though he clearly had Ratcliffe’s endorsement.

“Skyward, most of the time, but I nearly got arrested for decking one of Turner’s fucking mercenaries at Rickety Bridge when the bastards were trying to evict us.”

“Fuckers,” Mole acknowledged.

They were talking about what the press had dubbed the Third Battle of Newbury waged between road protestors, constructions contractors and the police in 1995 and 1996 over the construction of the notorious bypass. Abby knew a little about what had gone on from the rare occasions when Joel Stringer could be encouraged to talk about his somewhat colourful past. She knew that his forte at the time had been the tree top protests where people had roped themselves to the highest branches amidst a network of wooden platforms and aerial ropeways, until rope access specialists – widely regarded as renegades and mercenaries by the climbing community – had been employed to bring them down.

Mole, as his name implied had been at the opposite end of the spectrum, one of the tunnellers who had dug a network of underground passages and occupied them, to prevent heavy machinery being brought onto the sites. With that background, he would have been an ideal partner in the infiltration of Mason’s zoo.

A picture was starting to form in Abby’s mind about what the pair of them had been up to, but what she wasn’t sure of yet was why Stringer had been called in. Occasionally stopping to sip at her pint, Ratty started to describe how they’d checked out the zoo’s perimeter and noticed higher than normal levels of security, which was why they decided to go under the defences rather than over them. They’d finally broken through two days previously and had made their break-in attempt the night before.

She listened in amazement as Ratty’s story unfolded and beside her, Joel Stringer was taking everything in. She saw the expression on his face when the man called Dewar was mentioned and knew that the name meant something to him. Ratty’s description of their flight through the woods was vivid, and the shadow of fear in the girl’s eyes told its own story. Neither of them had expected to escape, that much was obvious, and Ratty’s voice faltered when she tried to describe the creatures that had pursued them.

“Like fucking great big ostriches on steroids,” Mole said, taking up the story where the girl had left off. “Only twice as vicious and twice as bloody ugly. They had heads the size of my forearm and bloody great big beaks.” His voice sounded defensive and challenging, as though he expected disbelief, but when it didn’t come, Mole took up the story again. “I was on the ground and the fuckers were pecking at me. I was rolling over and over, trying to grab something to swing at them. Ratty was down as well. I honestly thought we were fucked…” He reached out and squeezed the girl’s hand. “And I knew that if those bastards didn’t get me, your bloody dad would.” He shot an apologetic look at Dan Ratcliffe. “I was expecting a few of Mason’s bully boys, not fucking great big mutant turkeys or whatever the hell they were.”

“How did you get away?” Abby asked, forming her own private opinion about what they’d actually be faced with, but not wanting to voice her suspicions until she could talk privately with Stringer.

“One of Mason’s guys abandoned their tranquilliser guns and started spraying some real lead around – thank fuck. They took down the one that had been about to rip Ratty’s head off and the other one was spooked by the noise and took off like a bat out of hell.”

“He grabbed me and we legged it for the tunnel,” Ratty said. “We had a bit of a start on them and I know the woods on the other side of the wall better than they do. But there were times when I really didn’t think we’d get away.” She squirmed uncomfortably in her chair and a look of something like shame shadowed her face.

On impulse, Abby reached out and touched her arm. “You did well to get out of there.”

The girl gave her a tired smile. “Lost my bloody camera, though, so we’ve got sod all evidence.”

“Our word against theirs,” Mole said, clearly frustrated. “The tunnel will have been filled up and concreted in by now. They won’t fall for a trick like that twice. But at least we have some idea of what the fuckers are up to now.”

“What do you think they’re doing?” Abby asked, curious to see what their take on all this was.

Mole shrugged. “Some sort of genetic experiments, I guess. Hard to work out what else could explain things like that. They were like nothing I’ve ever bloody seen before.”

Hardly surprising, Abby thought, considering that creatures like that hadn’t walked the earth for several million years. She lacked Connor’s encyclopaedic knowledge of prehistoric creatures, but she guessed that Ratty and Mole had been pursued by Terror Birds, gastornis or maybe phorusrhacos, but either way, the beasts had come through an anomaly.

It looked like Lester’s suspicions of Ed Mason had been well-founded.


	4. Chapter 4

“Welcome to Farnley Hall, Mrs Thackeray.” The receptionist smiled widely. “If you let me have your car keys, I’ll have your bags taken up and George will park your car for you.

The woman addressed as Mrs Thackeray returned the smile and dropped a set of keys onto the polished wooden desk in the imposing hallway.

A younger woman, dressed neatly in a dark skirt and white blouse, and wearing flat, sensible shoes, appeared from a doorway behind the receptionist and bobbed what looked remarkably like a curtsey.

“Sandra will show you to your room. Smoking, as you requested. Would you like me to have some tea or coffee sent up?”

“Coffee. It was vile journey. Every idiot in the world seemed to be out for a drive in the country. Call me Claire. Mrs Thackeray makes me think of my mother-in-law and I can’t abide the old biddy.”

Claire Thackeray’s voice spoke of a 40-a-day habit and she had clearly spent plenty of time in the sun without the benefit of sunscreen. Her clothes were practical rather than fashionable, but she wore them with that indefinable style that hinted at a large amount of money in the bank.

“Follow me, ma’am,” the uniformed girl said, with another slight bob. Her accent wasn’t English. She didn’t offer her name, but her badge proclaimed it to be Sandra.

A wide wooden staircase wound up from the hall alongside walls adorned with the stuffed heads of numerous animals, both native species and more exotic ones, including the head of an Arabian Oryx. Claire Thackeray barely gave the animals a second glance as she followed the girl up the stairs and along a corridor to a room at the back of the hall with excellent views over rolling parkland.

The girl called Sandra gave another slight bob. “If there’s anything you need, ma’am, reception is staffed 24 hours a day. Your coffee and cases will be here in a few minutes.”

Claire Thackeray smiled and handed the girl a £5 note. Sandra smiled her thanks, gave another of her trademark bobs and left, closing the door quietly behind her.

Within a matter of moments, a lighted cigarette between her fingers, Claire Thackeray had kicked off her shoes and taken a tour of her surroundings. A four-poster bed hung with lavish brocade drapes dominated the wood-panelled room. An ensuite bathroom, white-tiled on both walls and floor played host to a large claw-footed ball with gold taps, a shower stall took up one corner, and an array of toiletries and large, fluffy white towels were set out on a marble washstand, on which rested a large glass basin, adorned with more gold taps.

In the bedroom, two comfortable armchairs faced the window that led to a small balcony but of more immediate interest was the mini-bar discreetly hidden inside a mahogany cabinet. The television was a large flat screen mounted on one wall.

A knock on the door signified the arrival of another member of staff, carrying two large suitcases, and while they were being brought in, a tray of coffee and biscuits arrived and was left on the low table beside a selection of daily newspapers. More discreet tipping followed. When the members of staff had left, Claire Thackeray ground out her cigarette butt in the ashtray, opened the mini-bar, tipped a miniature of single malt whisky into her coffee, lit another cigarette and settled down in one of the armchairs to enjoy the view, a thoughtful expression on her suntanned face.

* * * * *

Lyle stabbed his thumb against his mobile phone to end the call and then slammed the phone down on the coffee table in Lester’s flat with mounting frustration. “Harry hasn’t seen her for a week.”

“Does he know where she’s gone?” Lester asked, depositing a can of beer next to his lover. The conversation between Lyle and his mother’s fourth husband had been a long one, but it had seemed to yield little in the way of concrete information.

“If he does he’s not telling me.” Lyle sighed and took a long swig of beer. “To be honest, I think he’s as much in the dark as we are. All I got out of him was that she’d been using her mobile a lot in the study. He’s going to check the browser history on her laptop on the off chance, but I bet she’ll have cleared it, she’s too fly for a fuck-up like that. She told him she’d be back in three weeks. That was a week ago.” He scratched absently at his thumbs again. “She’s messing with Ed bloody Mason, isn’t she?”

Lester nodded. “Looks that way.”

Lyle grimaced. “I don’t like what I’ve heard about the fucker. Employing Manchester muscle with knocked off Eastern bloc handguns isn’t my idea of respectable, so why are your political paymasters so bloody keen on keeping you away from him?”

“I imagine a large donation to party funds is involved somewhere along the line.”

Lester was under no illusion about such things, but the scale of corruption in the upper echelons of Government never failed to amaze – and disappoint – him. The current lot were no better than any of their predecessors, no matter how much they cared to make an attempt to seize the moral high ground and defend it against all-comers.

“Bastards,” Lyle muttered as he reached for his phone and dialled a number from memory. “Madge? It’s Jon. You told me to bring James for lunch sometime. I’m owed a bit of down-time so how does Saturday sound?” He listened a moment and then grinned at Lester. “12.30? No problem. We’ll be there.” He ended the call and took another swig of beer. “No pointing in asking Madge if she’s heard from her. If she knows anything, Mother will have put her under orders to keep schtum.”

“Julia couldn’t just have done the simple thing and told us what she knows, could she?” Lester sighed. He knew it was a vain hope. Julia Denton was an old-school journalist who would do things her own way.

Lyle laughed humourlessly. “Not when she’s after a bloody story. You do realise you’ll have to incarcerate her in the Tower of London to shut her up if she gets a scoop?”

“That can be arranged. I don’t suppose a DA notice would do any good?”

“She wallpapers the bogs with the bloody things, sweetie. Nope, it’ll have to be a dungeon to keep her quiet. And I want the pleasure of throwing away the key.” He knocked back the rest of the beer and declared with clearly mounting frustration, “I am too bloody old to be worrying about my mother taking off on some daft caper! The old harridan should be knitting bonnets for babies, not getting involved in the sort of thing I do for a bloody living.”

Lester placed a sympathetic hand on Lyle’s shoulder. “Don’t let it get to you, Jon. I’m sure she’ll be fine.” He wasn’t, but it didn’t seem like the right moment to fuel his lover’s mounting paranoia on the subject of his only parent’s activities.

The sharp trill of his mobile phone broke the silence. Lester glanced at the screen display and raised his eyebrows. The caller was Joel Stringer. “Captain,” he said, not even trying to keep the surprise out of his voice. “Yes,” he said in answer to the man’s question as to whether he was at home to visitors. “Tell the doorman I’m expecting you and take the lift to the fourth floor. I’ll meet you there.” He stared thoughtfully at Lyle. “Stringer wants to talk.”

* * * * *

Dinner at Farnley Hall was served at 8pm, preceded by drinks in the library at 7pm. It was a warm evening and large French doors had been thrown open to reveal chairs and tables on a spacious paved area overlooking a formal rose garden. The scent of flowers was heavy on the air. An impeccably-dressed waiter offered chilled champagne in a tall fluted glass as Claire Thackeray entered a room filled from floor to ceiling on two walls with glass-fronted bookcases containing books both ancient and modern.

A large stone fireplace set in one wall contained a pile of logs laid on top of enormous cast-iron firedogs, smouldering gently. In front of it, a tall, well-built man was chatting to two men and a woman, while out on the terrace, several other people were drinking and talking.

The man broke off his conversation with an apology and stepped towards the latest arrival, his hand outstretched. “Claire! Wonderful to see you again.” He slipped his arm around her waist and the ritual of air-kissing followed. “Let me introduce George and Lizzie Henderson, and Peter Churchill. His wife, Anne, is outside.”

Claire Thackeray smiled and nodded. Air kisses were exchanged and one of the men offered her a cigarette. The group drifted away from the fire and onto the terrace. More introductions followed and the waiter moved silently from person to person, topping up their glasses.

From somewhere in the distance, a howl echoed on the wind, greeted by other animal noises.

“Someone wants their dinner,” commented one of the guests. “So, Ed, when do we get to see your latest exhibits?”

Mason smiled. “Patience, Charlie. I’ll give you the guided tour tomorrow.”

“More to the point, when do we get to the interesting stuff?” The speaker was a short, rotund man, wearing a crumpled linen jacket over a beige shirt and pair of dark brown slacks.

“You just want to try out your new toy,” laughed one of his companions. “Henry’s just been bragging about his latest acquisition.”

Mason raised his eyebrows politely and the man referred to as Henry joined in the laughter. “You’re just jealous, Grigson.” To Mason he added, “I picked up a Marlin 336 last time I was in Jo’burg.”

Ed Mason smiled. “Probably one of the most successful lever-action rifles in history. Don’t let Dewar get his hands on it or you’ll never get it back. I swear that man sleeps with his guns.”

“You were lucky to get him,” Grigson commented. “I heard on the grapevine that someone in the US was bidding for his services.”

Mason’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Carl and I go way back. I made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.”

“I hope you’ve got something suitable lined up for me to use,” Claire Thackeray remarked. “I haven’t been back in the country long enough to make my own arrangements.”

“Of course,” Mason said smoothly. “You can have your pick from my gun room, my dear. I’m sure you’ll find something that takes your fancy.”

As he spoke, the woman’s eyes slid to the smooth-skinned young waiter, his dark almond shaped eyes betraying a hint of East Asian ancestry. “I’m sure I will,” she purred, lifting her cigarette to her artificially reddened lips.

The others laughed as the young man refreshed their glasses. A grandfather clock in library announced the time and Ed Mason led his guests through to the dining room.

* * * * *

“Have you eaten?” Lester asked, ushering both Stringer and Abby Maitland into his living room.

Abby nodded and sat down next to Lyle on the sofa. “We had something at the Black Swan before leaving.”

“So what did you find out?” Lyle demanded, consigning social niceties to the dustbin of history.

“Mason’s our man,” Stringer said. “Dan Ratcliffe’s daughter and one of her friends broke into his zoo.”

“Did they obtain anything we can use as evidence?” Lester asked. If he was going to get past the various roadblocks the Home Secretary seemed determined to erect in the way of his investigations into Mason’s activities, he would need more than just rumours backed by a confession extracted from a hired thug by means he didn’t care to enquire too closely into.

Abby shook her head. “She lost her camera when they were chased by something that sounded very much like Terror Birds. I spoke to Connor on the way here and he thinks the creatures were phorusrhacos. They lived about five million years ago in South America and southern USA.”

“Well, they didn’t get those on a breeding exchange programme,” Lester commented. “Without concrete evidence, the minister won’t sanction anything. Are they reliable witnesses?”

“They won’t go anywhere near the police,” Stringer said. “Not with their background.” In response to Lester’s politely quizzical expression, he added, “They’re both members of the Animal Liberation Front.” He turned to Lyle and asked, “Jon, what do you know about a guy called Carl Dewar? The name rings a bell, but I can’t place him.”

Lyle’s eyebrows shot up. “Dewar? Last time I came across him he was riding shotgun for a diamond mine in Sierra Leone. He’s fought in Zimbabwe, Rwanda and just about every African hotspot you can think of. But I heard on the grapevine he’d also been hawking his services to big game hunters.”

“That explains his connection with Mason,” Lester commented. “So our Mr Mason is hiring mercenaries.”

“And good ones,” Lyle added. “Dewar’s a hard fucker, and he doesn’t come cheap.”

“Mason can afford him, from what I’ve heard,” said Stringer. “We caught a glimpse of his country pile on the way to meet Dan. It’s not quite the size of Longleat, but it’s not bloody far off. The estate is surrounded by a wall that must have cost almost as much to build as the house.”

“What does Ratcliffe and his daughter suspect Mason of doing?” Lester queried. “I presume the D word wasn’t used?”

Stringer grinned. “Nope, no one mentioned dinosaurs. They originally thought he was running hunting parties of some sort on the estate, maybe with a bit of dog-fighting or something equally unsavoury thrown in for good measure. Now they think he’s either conducting genetic experiments or carrying out some sort of weird breeding programme. We didn’t disabuse them of either notion.”

“Why did Ratcliffe call you, mate?” Lyle asked. The lieutenant was still scratching at his thumbs and Lester could see that Stringer’s mention of the man called Dewar had done nothing to assuage his concerns.

“He wondered if I’d be up for a bit of moonlighting to help them get to the bottom of what’s going on.”

“And what did you say?” Lester asked.

Stringer grinned. “Told him I’d think about it, but I didn’t say no. Said I’d do a bit of digging and get back to him.” He glanced at Lyle. “Jon, if we’re taking on Mason, we need to know exactly what we’re going up against so far as his muscle is concerned. You’ve worked in Africa more recently than me. Get onto some of your contacts.”

Lyle nodded thoughtfully. “I’ll get Blade onto it as well. He’s got mates in both Sandline and Saracen. Dewar’s done work for both outfits. If he’s backing Mason up, the chances are he’ll have brought some lads in that he knows.”

“The Home Secretary will have our guts for garters if she gets wind of this,” Lester remarked.

“The Home Secretary is a bitch from hell,” Lyle said. “Don’t worry, sweetie, we’ll make sure all this stays strictly off the radar.”

“Abby, find out if there’s any legitimate way we can get a team inside that zoo,” said Lester. “Preferably quickly.”

“I’ll get straight onto it,” she said. “I’ll also see if anyone in the trade has suspicions about him.”

Fifteen minutes later, Lester bade goodnight to Stringer and Abby at the lift and returned to his flat to find Lyle staring out of the large picture window at the slowly-moving London Eye, a mass of lights twinkling off the dark waters of the Thames. He slipped his arms around Lyle’s waist, conscious of the tension in his lover’s body.

“Come to bed, Jon. There’s nothing more that can be done tonight.”

Lyle nodded without speaking and followed Lester into the bedroom. The soldier shed his clothes into the usual untidy heap and disappeared to the bathroom whilst Lester carefully hung his suit up and consigned his shirt, underwear and socks to the laundry basket. He took his turn in the bathroom then slid into bed beside Lyle and turned out the bedside light, sensing that neither of them felt like reading. Lyle was clearly still strung up as tight as a high wire. Stringer’s revelations had done nothing to ease his concerns about his mother’s activities. And for all Lyle’s joking references to his mother and the fact that they rarely spoke from one month to the next, Lester knew he cared deeply about her, as she did about him.

He stretched out an arm and said quietly, “Jon, don’t shut me out, please.”

Lyle sighed and rolled over to pillow his head on Lester’s shoulder. “Sorry.” He was silent for a moment, then, the hesitation in his voice more marked than Lester remembered hearing it for a long time, he said, “James, do you think this is what it’s always felt like for her?”

Lester opened his mouth with the initial intention of making light of his lover’s concerns then stopped. Lyle knew him too well to be fooled by platitudes. “Probably,” he admitted. “Until she nearly chewed my head off that time you went down with that bloody bug when we were caving, I hadn’t realised the thumbs ran in the family.”

He smiled in the darkness, remembering the chaos Julia Denton had caused by ringing up the ARC – which she wasn’t even meant to know existed – demanding to know where her little boy was, and not taking ‘we have no idea what you’re talking about’ for an adequate answer.

“They sometimes skip a generation, so I’m told,” Lyle said. “But not in my case. Christ, James, if this is what she has to put up with every time I’m on an op, it’s a miracle she didn’t start dying her hair fucking years ago.”

“Maybe it doesn’t always work like that,” Lester hazarded.

“I never even bloody thought to ask her,” Lyle admitted.

In an attempt to turn his lover’s thoughts in a less gloomy direction, Lester ran a hand down Lyle’s chest and over the flat planes of his stomach to gently stroke his cock. Lyle obligingly shifted position slightly to give him better access, but even after a few minutes, Lyle’s cock was still failing to take an interest in the proceedings.

“Cock-blocked by my sodding mother,” Lyle muttered. “I’ll never live it down.”

Lester laughed and kissed his lover’s lips lightly. “I won’t tell her if you don’t, Jon. Now go to sleep.”

Somewhat to his surprise, Lyle did exactly that, while Lester lay awake in the darkness, still trying to work out how Ed Mason had obtained the information about the prehistoric creatures masquerading as pets in the wilds of Cumbria. Connor’s best efforts on the internet had failed to turn up any relevant information, but Lester remained certain that somewhere along the line, they were missing a key piece of intelligence.

It was several hours before he finally followed his lover into sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

An early morning mist veiled the Kent countryside. Attentive staff stood in the imposing hallway of Farnley Hall and handed out waterproofs to anyone who needed them, but on the whole the guests had come equipped for most weathers and Barbour clothing was in evidence everywhere.

Four green Range Rovers were parked on the gravel driveway in front of the hall, each with a driver standing ready to open the door for their passengers. The men were uniformly well-built, with close-cropped hair – and in one case a shaven head, glistening with the moisture suffusing the air – all dressed in khaki, wearing multi-pocketed jackets or waistcoats and the sort of boots that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a parade ground.

In the doorway, a man leaned against a mock-Doric pillar, a rifle slung casually over his shoulder and a pistol holstered against each thigh. He was dressed more casually than the others in a pair of black combat trousers and a dark green jacket, again with a multiplicity of pockets. He was of little more than medium height, but strongly-built, his light-brown hair cut short. He had the air of a man who was well-able to handle himself in a tight spot. His jaw line was softened by stubble so heavy that it was almost a beard and a slight smile hovered on his lips. The man’s boots were well-worn and hadn’t seen polish in months. He nodded to the guests, but made no attempt to emulate the way the men by the vehicles were almost standing to attention.

Ed Mason came through the main door, chatting animatedly to two women. He nodded to the man, but didn’t effect any introductions, even though both of his guests glanced in that direction with obvious interest. Over the course of the next ten minutes, the remainder of the men and women who had dined the previous night at Farnley Hall made their way out to stand under the portico.

Mason conducted a discreet headcount and then raised his voice enough to be heard. “Ladies and gentleman, I trust you all had an agreeable evening and slept well last night. I’m sorry that the weather I’d ordered has failed to materialise. Rest assured I’ll register all appropriate complaints.” He paused briefly for the expected laughter and then continued, “I thought we’d start the day with a little tour of the facilities here, just to whet your appetites for what’s to come during your stay. I’d just like to remind you all that, as we agreed, cameras and mobile phones are strictly forbidden in the park. Please respect that.” His eyes scanned the crowd, looking for anyone who showed any signs of discomfort.

Satisfied, Mason waved a hand at the fleet of Range Rovers. “Please make your way to the vehicles. They’re all equipped with the same radio system, so I’ll be able to provide a commentary as we pass through the park.”

“You’re starting to sound like something off Jurassic Park!” called one of the guests in amusement.

“How did you get the T. rex past the zoo inspectors?” laughed one of the others.

Mason laughed with them and ushered the men and women into their transport for the morning. He got into the first Range Rover in the fleet and the brown-haired man slipped into the back seat of the same vehicle.

“I reckon at least three of them have got cameras,” the man commented in a Texan drawl.

Mason stared at him sharply, clearly annoyed that the other man had spotted something he’d missed. “Then your lads had better be on the lookout, Dewar. No photographs. They know the rules.”

“They’re paying a fucking fortune for this,” Dewar replied, unconcerned by Mason’s irritation. “They’ll think that entitles them to break as many rules as they want.”

“And it’s your job to make sure they behave like good little multi-millionaires,” Mason snapped.

“I thought it was my job to make sure they all stayed alive.”

“That as well,” said Mason, thumbing the switch to turn on the radio transmitter. “Ladies and gentlemen, if I might have your attention, we are about to enter the lion enclosure. Please ensure that all windows and doors remain closed. This is the largest of its type in any zoo in the country, including Longleat. Here we have…”

As Mason’s commentary continued, the convoy drove slowly through a pair of tall gates into a fenced enclosure. The tour had begun and men and women were now staring out of the windows at the parkland on either side of their cars, looking for their first glimpse of the promised wildlife.

* * * * *

Abby stared around her at the crowded conference room. Joel Stringer had just retold the tale of Ratty and Mole’s break-in. Cutter was already firing off questions and Connor was displaying pictures of Terror Birds on the large, flat screen mounted on one wall.

“Phorusrahcos,” he pronounced happily, when Cutter paused in his questioning to draw breath. “Gastornis are too big and heavy to be mistaken for mutant ostriches.”

“It was dark and they were scared to death,” Stephen pointed out.

“My money’s still on phorusrachos,” Connor said, and promptly pulled up a list of Terror Bird-related facts and figures.

“Abby,” Lester said loudly, cutting through the debate. “Perhaps you’d care to enlighten us on the rules and regulations relating to private zoos, or at least,” he amended hastily, with a glance at two over-enthusiastic former academics, “those parts that are pertinent to our particular predicament.”

“You want a way of getting in without all guns blazing,” she said. “And without kicking any doors in.”

“Indeed,” Lester agreed, to the evident disappointment of the various Special Forces officers lounging at ease around the room.

“It’s not going to be easy,” she admitted, and watched as the soldiers perked up again. “Mason had what’s called a Periodical Inspection last year and came up clean. He’s not due another of those for at least three years.”

“There must be a loophole in the regulations somewhere that we can use to our advantage,” Lester sniffed. “This is bureaucracy, for goodness sake. Every piece of legislation has a loophole.”

“Maybe,” Abby conceded, although privately she thought they were still going to run up against difficulties. “Our best hope is to trigger something called a Special Inspection. It’s up to the local authority if they want to invoke one of those and if they do, they get to determine who goes on the inspection team, providing it includes at least one vet.”

“Sounds good,” Cutter commented, winking at her. “I distinctly remember you telling me that you once considered studying to be a vet, lass.”

“You’re getting the hang of this, Professor,” Lester said approvingly. “So what circumstances can give rise to a Special Inspection?”

Abby glanced down at her notes. “It’s really down to the local authority to decide whether there are circumstances that call for one. They’re meant to make preliminary enquiries first…”

“I think we have enough information to satisfy that particular need. We have an ex-employee testifying to serious neglect and animal cruelty.”

“We have?” Abby was sure she probably looked as puzzled as she felt.

“We have,” Lester said decisively. “You’ve got until Monday morning to put something together that’ll pass muster. I’m sure Mr Temple can arrange for some headed notepaper from the appropriate department in the council, along with a phone number that can’t be traced back to here. I’m also sure Miss Wickes is more than capable of answering the telephone in an appropriate manner when Mason rings up to complain about the lack of notice. A few local authority identity cards would be useful, as well, Mr Temple.”

Connor grinned widely. “Cool.”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Lester murmured. “Now, would someone care to apprise me of where we stand with regard to our background checks on Mr Mason’s hired help?”

“I’ve called a few old mates,” Lyle said. “Blade’s done the same. Carl Dewar turned down a couple of job offers and then dropped off everyone’s radar about three months ago.” He slid a piece of paper across the table to Lester. “This is a list of his known associates who’ve done the same. Three of them are ex-Blackwater employees, one guy was chucked out of Saracen after his bosses got sick of buying off rape victims and two more are ex-Sandline. We’ve traced the three names the girl could remember. Johnson, the one who got bitten by the bird, is Graham Johnson, he’s one of the ex-Blackwater guys.”

From her recent discussions with Stringer, Abby recognised the names of the companies concerned. Blackwater was a private military company – since rebranded under a name she couldn’t remember – who’d made a fortune out of defence contracts with the US government. Saracen was another private security firm, as they liked to call themselves, and Sandline was much the same. It seemed from what Abby had heard that the world of the military and ex-military moved in much the same circles, and companies like the ones Lyle had just named were a fruitful source of employment, particularly for ex-Special Forces soldiers who wanted to continue in the same line of business.

Lyle glanced down at his own copy of the briefing document. “Ben Harris is the one who got chucked out of Saracen for one rape too many. I ran across him in Sierra Leone once. He’s a sick little fucker. The most likely candidate for ‘Ricky’ is Ricky Carey, ex-Sandline. He’s a logistics expert. He dropped off the grid at about the same time as Dewar. They’ve worked together a few times. I suspect Mason had already started to doubt the wisdom of using the sort of local muscle he’d put in place for the abortive Cumbrian heist. If we’re right – and I think we are – Mason’s got a more professional mob on board now. If we go up against them the place’ll resemble a war zone in five minutes flat.”

“And the Home Secretary won’t sanction that,” Lester said, looking pained at the prospect. “Subtlety, gentlemen, that’s what we need here. Did they teach it at Hereford?”

“So no air strikes?” Lyle grinned.

“Regrettably not. And, before anyone suggests it, an artillery bombardment is also out of the question. I shall leave you all to come up with an acceptable plan for implementation at the earliest opportunity.” Lester stood up and headed for the door, remarking as he went, “And do remember the magic words, children.”

“Please and thank you?” Lyle muttered.

“Plausible deniability, Lieutenant. But practicing the others wouldn’t go amiss, especially for those occasions on which I am kind enough to bring you tea and biscuits in bed.”

And with that, Lester swept out of the room.

* * * * *

The convoy of Range Rovers left the monkey enclosure and made their way slowly across the parkland. The mist had started to close in around them, blanketing the area in a damp, grey shroud. Trees loomed up occasionally, but visibility was down to no more than about 25 metres in any direction.

Ed Mason thumbed the switch on his radio and started speaking again. “Thank you for your patience this morning, ladies and gentlemen. We will shortly be returning to the hall for lunch but before we do, I’d just like to take up a little more of your time – after all, you haven’t just come for creatures you could see any day of the week at Whipsnade or Longleat, have you?”

He picked up a remote control device and pointed it at the gates looming up in front of his vehicle. The fencing on this enclosure was made up of solid metal bars four metres high, with an over-hung section almost a metre wide. The visitors sat a little straighter in their seats, peering out of the windows into the mist.

“Please ensure that your doors and windows remain closed at all times, ladies and gentlemen,” Mason advised. “Under no circumstances should you leave the vehicles. In the unlikely event of a breakdown, remain where you are and follow the instructions of your driver.” A slight smile quirked his lips as he glanced over his shoulder at Carl Dewar, lounging at ease in the rear seats, a rifle cradled across his knees. “That should get their interest.”

The convoy moved forward across the short grass at no more than 10mph. Mason’s guests continued to look out of the windows, clearly wondering when they were going to learn what was being kept in this particular enclosure.

In the third Range Rover, George Henderson glanced at his wife and muttered, “The bugger’s a bit of a showman, but this had better be worth the money. He’s not getting another penny out of me until we’ve seen something a bit more interesting than a few moth-eaten lions.”

Before she had the chance to reply, movement in the mist caught her attention. “There’s something out there,” she said, peering over her husband’s shoulder.

“It’s a bloody ostrich,” Derrick Grigson said, disgust evident in his voice. “Mason had better start making good on his promises…”

A moment later, a tall form started running towards them and even through the vehicle’s closed windows an irate shriek could be clearly heard.

“Bit big for an ostrich,” Henderson commented, sounding interested for the first time since the tour through the park had started.

The creature charged towards them on stout, heavily-muscled legs. Short, stubby wings were held close to its body, but the beast’s feathers were fluffed up as it contrived to make itself look even bigger and more threatening. Lizzie Henderson shrank back in the seat as a feathered crest rose up on a head that was far too large to belong to any ostrich or emu. It was a flightless bird, but one wholly unlike anything she or her husband had ever seen.

“Bloody hell…” George Henderson said his eyes wide with amazement.

The iridescent green crest on the bird’s head lifted to its fullest extent and without warning it struck hard at the passenger side window.

Lizzie Henderson screamed loudly and, with the exception of their driver who took the attack with commendable calm, the other three men in the car jumped violently. The thick, curved beak, clearly designed for rending the flesh from its prey, rammed into the window again, rocking the vehicle on its wheels.

“No need for alarm,” said Mason’s voice over the radio. “The windows are armoured glass.”

“Now he tells us,” Derrick Grigson complained. “What the bloody hell is it?”

“Annoyed,” said their driver, failing to keep the amusement out of his voice. “They really don’t like the cars.” He pressed the accelerator and the vehicle started to move forward again slowly.

Another shriek sounded on the other side of the car followed by a loud scraping noise as a second bird gouged a long slash in the paintwork. Then moments later, more shapes dashed out from the mist and the Range Rover was surrounded by at least six of the giant birds, all pecking viciously at the vehicle, bringing it to a halt again. The Range Rover shook under the onslaught, then there was a loud bang and the vehicle lurched slightly to one side.

“We’ve just lost a tyre,” the driver announced into his radio. He let the clutch out again and the Range Rover moved slowly forward, one wheel rim now digging into the soft earth of the park.

As they moved off, one of the massively powerful, hooked beaks slashed hard at the windscreen, ripping off one of the wiper blades and tossing it aside as it dived back in, beak open, displaying a reddened tongue. A pair of angry yellow eyes was fixed on the occupants of the car and Lizzie Henderson let out another scream as a faint crack started to appear on the glass, spreading outwards from the impact. As though sensing weakness, the bird hammered its beak again at the same spot and the crack started to spread.

The driver swore softly and kept the vehicle moving as blows rained down on it from all sides. The convoy continued to make its way through the enclosure and eventually the birds gave up their pursuit. The occupants of the damaged vehicles stared backwards at the flock of giant, predatory birds and tried, without noticeable success, to bring their breathing under control in the silence that had fallen.

“Well, you certainly don’t get that at bloody Longleat,” Derrick Grigson announced with evident satisfaction. “Maybe this isn’t going to turn out to be a waste of dosh after all.”


	6. Chapter 6

Lester drove his Mercedes carefully down a rutted track and brought it to a halt in front of a large house in serious need of some exterior redecoration. The minute he turned the car engine off, the car was surrounded by what looked suspiciously like an entire pack of beagles, all barking enthusiastically. He was immediately glad Lyle had insisted on him wearing nothing more elaborate than a pair of old jeans and a casual sweater.

“Get down, you little buggers!” The voice belonged to an attractive woman in her early 60s, dressed in a pair of brightly-coloured Indian print trousers, topped with a plain black silk shirt that had probably cost a fortune, but was now liberally coated with dog hair. Her hair, honey-blonde heavily intermixed with grey, was held back in a loose pony-tail from a face wholly devoid of make-up. A pair of clear blue eyes surveyed Lester appraisingly. “You must be James. Why don’t we send Jon off for a walk with the dogs and you can tell me what on earth you see in him?”

“No bloody way,” Lyle retorted, giving the woman a hug. “Last time I took your dogs for a walk they dragged me over half of Surrey in pursuit of the local wildlife. Hello, Madge.”

“Hello, Jon. Come on, lunch is in the oven. We can have drinks in the conservatory while we rip the Official Secrets Act into small strips and use it to line the rats’ cages.”

“Bred any new ones recently?”

“I can show you some beautiful Cinnamon Chinchillas. And before you say it, no, that isn’t a type of biscuit. One of them took best of breed at the Bath and West Show last week.”

To Lester’s surprise, the house was immaculately clean, with not a single dog hair or rat in sight. Madge Boulter handed them both a cold beer and then excused herself for a moment to change. The dog hairs were apparently due to the fact that she had been outside grooming the beagles and had lost track of time. When she returned five minutes later she was wearing a loose silk dress, in a vivid turquoise shot with darker blue. Lester knew quality when he saw it.

She settled down in a large wicker chair and promptly started to exchange gossip with Lyle while skilfully ensuring that Lester was drawn into as much of the conversation as possible. Lyle’s godmother proved to be an entertaining companion, even when she was interrogating Lester on his personal circumstances with a skill that wouldn’t have been out of place in a courtroom or a Russian prison. Lunch was excellent and afterwards, they retired to the conservatory for coffee.

Madge opened a box of Belgian chocolates, remarking to Lester, “He’s had a sweet tooth since he was a kid.” She directed a pointed look at Lyle. “You get it from your mother, don’t you, darling? Speaking of which, are you ever going to get to the point, Jon, or are we just going to spend the rest of the afternoon dancing around the subject like a couple of virgins on a first date?”

Lyle sighed and scratched absently at his thumbs. “I don’t care if she’s sworn you to secrecy, Madge, she’s up to her neck in something she shouldn’t be meddling with.”

“That’s the story of your mother’s life, darling.”

Lyle shook his head. “She’s spent at least half of her career in bloody war zones and it hasn’t had this effect on me.” He held up his thumbs, displaying reddened, obviously sore skin. “And before you say it, yes, I do know now what I’ve probably put her through in the past.”

“I was wondering when that realisation would finally sink in,” his godmother said with a wry smile. “Your mother is a very competent woman, Jon, and she has taken some precautions, you’ll be glad to know. If I don’t hear from her every 24 hours, I’m under instructions to tell you everything I know.”

Lyle closed his eyes for a moment, obviously fighting for control. When he finally spoke, his voice just sounded tired. “Madge, 24 hours could be 23 hours too late.”

“She’s my oldest friend, Jon. I’m not going to break her confidence at this stage.” Her blue eyes held an unmistakeable trace of concern, but Lester knew there was no chance of her giving Lyle the information he wanted to know. “Before you ask, I last heard from here on schedule this morning at 9am. She’s fine.”

Lyle stared ruefully down at his thumbs. “Let’s hope she stays that way. Madge, if she is so much as one minute late checking in with you, I want to know about it, OK?”

She smiled and nodded. “Scouts’ honour.”

“You were thrown out of the Brownies for being a disruptive influence.”

“Trust me, I’m a retired journalist.”

Lyle grinned and shook his head. “Nice try, but no dice.” He swiped a handful of chocolates and finally allowed his godmother to change the subject.

By the time they left, Lester was none the wiser about the whereabouts of his lover’s mother, but he knew an awful lot more about fancy rats than he had done when they’d arrived.

The drive back to Lester’s flat was mostly accomplished in silence. Lyle was tense and Lester knew his lover was not reassured by the precautions apparently taken by his absent parent. As they walked through the door of the flat, Lyle’s mobile let out a shrill bleep. He started at the screen for a moment and a look of concern settled on his face as he accepted the call and demanded, “Henry, have you heard from her?”

The caller was clearly Henry Rossington, Julia’s fourth husband. Lester hadn’t met him but he knew Lyle thought highly of the man.

Lyle expression morphed rapidly from concern into totally incredulity. “How much?” He listened for a moment, then closed his eyes, looking like he wanted to bang his head against the pale gold wallpaper. “I’m sorry, Henry, I didn’t get anything useful out of Madge other than the fact that mother phoned her this morning and sounded fine… No, I’m as much in the dark as you are. You can try Madge if you like, but you know what she’s like. She goes back too far with mother for her to take a blind bit of notice of either of us.” He laughed, but the sound was dry and humourless. “For what it’s worth, I certainly don’t think she’s got a bit on the side. What did you tell the bank?”

Lester’s eyebrows shot up, both at the thought that the formidable Julia Denton might have been having an affair and at the mention of a bank. He waited with barely concealed impatience for Lyle to finish the call and then demanded, “What the hell has she done now?”

“Withdrawn two million pounds from their joint account.” Lyle’s voice was oddly flat, wholly at odds with the tension radiating from his body.

The soldier kicked his shoes off and headed straight for the kitchen where he flipped the top off a bottle of beer and drained it without speaking. With alcohol obviously the order of the day, Lester poured a large gin and tonic and sipped it thoughtfully, waiting for his lover to reveal what else his stepfather had told him.

“The money was paid into an account in the Cayman Islands. They’d already spoken to mother and she’d verified the transaction.”

“So why did they call Henry?”

“The bank manager is an old friend of his. And before you ask, Henry’s already trying to trace where the money has gone using his financial contacts and if he can’t do it, nobody can. He says he’s now got to the stage of calling in a few favours, so he hasn’t given up yet.”

Lester took another mouthful of his drink. Two million pounds was a lot of money, Lyle didn’t need to be told that, but Lester also had a rough idea how much capital Julia Denton and her current husband had between them and, even in the current financial climate, the withdrawal would barely put a dent in the couple’s net worth.

“Do you think she’s been kidnapped?” Lester watched as Lyle flipped the top off another beer, obviously struggling to come to grips with the latest news.

Lyle shook his head. “Hell, no. If that was the case, they’d have taken a lot more than two million quid.” He took another swig of beer and then slammed the bottle down hard on the kitchen counter. “I’m going to bloody kill her when I catch up with her – providing some other bugger doesn’t beat me to it.”

Lester finished his drink and pulled Lyle into a hug. His lover was wound as tight as a spring, but it was a measure of Lyle’s agitation that he didn’t resist, simply pillowing his head on Lester’s shoulder and allowing himself to be held. Lester slipped his arms around Lyle’s waist and tried to gauge how best to relieve the other man’s tension.

“Bed?” he asked matter-of-factly, having had some experience in the past of dealing with the stresses associated with a lover in Her Majesty’s Special Forces, even though, judging by Lyle’s showing the other night, the current problems were possibly a little too close to home for the soldier to want to let off steam by means of a good, hard shag.

Lyle lifted his head from Lester’s shoulder and managed a grin. “Well, there’s bugger all we can do until Henry rings back, so yeah, let’s see whether mother’s bloody antics have put a permanent downer on my sex life or not.”

Half an hour later, Lester was beginning to regret his suggestion. In spite of his best efforts Lyle was still no more than half-hard. He raised his head from his lover’s cock and quirked one eyebrow questioningly. “Jon?”

Lyle sighed theatrically, but Lester knew him well enough to spot an act when he was treated to one. “Just fuck me, sweetie,” Lyle muttered with a brittle edge to his voice that made Lester’s stomach clench.

Lester was debating whether to simply give up on the idea of releasing Lyle’s tension in the time-honoured manner when Lyle reached up and pulled him down into an open-mouthed kiss. It was a kiss that tasted of beer and desperation. He kissed back hard, his hands running over Lyle’s chest as he ground their hips together and forced his tongue into his lover’s mouth, his cock pressing against Lyle’s groin. Lyle spread his legs in mute invitation.

Lester pulled back and grabbed the lubricant from the bedside table. He settled Lyle’s hips on his thighs, slicked his cock and pressed it up against the soldier’s hole. He hesitated, knowing that he should take his time, but the look of raw need on Lyle’s face said more than words ever could. Lester took his weight on one hand forcing Lyle’s thighs back as he gripped his own cock with his other hand and pushed it past the tight ring of muscle with no attempt at preparation.

The breath left Lyle’s lungs in one ragged gasp and he lifted his hips to meet Lester’s thrust in mute encouragement. Lester steadied himself and started to drive himself into his lover’s body. To his surprise, instead of wilting further under the stretch and burn of penetration, Lyle’s cock twitched against his stomach and started to swell. Lester took heart from that and continued his assault on Lyle’s clearly willing body. It wasn’t often that Lyle actually sought out the added spice of pain in their love-making, but it was clear to Lester that he was hitting the spot at the moment in more ways than one.

Underneath him, Lyle pushed back hard, meeting each thrust with a slight grunt. His eyes were closed now and Lester watched him moisten dry lips with his tongue. He leaned forwards and captured Lyle’s lips in a messy and uncoordinated kiss. Lyle groaned into his mouth and bucked his hips again, his now-hard cock sliding over the taut skin of Lester’s stomach and leaving a trail of pre-come behind.

Lyle was close to climax and Lester could practically taste his arousal. He thrust his tongue into the soldier’s mouth, then pulled back to rub his face against the stubble on Lyle’s chin, nipping and pulling at his lover’s earlobe with his teeth. Lester could feel his own release start to coil low in his belly but he couldn’t spare a hand to help drag Lyle over the edge with him. He bit down on his own lower lip, hoping to stave off his orgasm long enough to ensure Lyle came first but his lover’s body was tight around his cock and Lester couldn’t hold back any longer. With a gasped apology, he thrust hard, hoping to hit Lyle’s prostate and trigger his climax.

As Lester’s come filled his lover’s arse, he tried to shift position to get a hand on Lyle’s cock to bring him off. At the same time, the mobile phone Lyle had deposited on the bedside table suddenly let out its siren call. Lyle’s eyes flew open and his cock suddenly pulsed, sending thick come spurting onto the hard planes of his stomach.

Lester pulled back, panting, as Lyle twisted onto his side and grabbed the phone. “Henry?” It was measure of the soldier’s enviable fitness that he was able to bring his breathing under control almost immediately. Lyle listened for a moment then laughed and this time the sound held a note of something approaching genuine humour. “Thanks. Yes, that’s useful. I’ll keep you posted…. try not to worry.”

Lyle ended the call and stared up at Lester, his pupils blown so wide that his eyes looked almost black. “Henry’s drawn a blank so far on the destination of the funds, but he’s come good with something else. He’s had a computer whizz-kid going over mother’s lap-top and the lad’s pulled off some notes that she obviously thought she’d deleted. He’s found details of a company specialising in very upmarket holidays.”

“For two million quid I imagine the destinations are a bit more exotic than the Galapagos,” commented Lester, reaching for a tissue to clean them both up. His heart was still hammering in his chest from the force of his orgasm and he wasn’t doing anywhere near as good a job as Lyle at controlling his breathing.

Lyle nodded. “Our Mr Mason has obviously got a sense of humour.” He paused and Lester tilted his head on one side questioningly. “The company is called Gallifrey Ventures,” Lyle told him.

And though he liked to pretend to the contrary, Lester was familiar enough with popular culture not to need Connor to explain the significance of that name.

There was now no doubt at all in either of their minds what sort of holiday Ed Mason was offering.

* * * * *

Ed Mason put the phone down, allowing a small smile of satisfaction to curve his lips.

On the other side of the desk, Carl Dewar leaned back in his chair, long legs in black trousers stretched out in front of him. “Good news?”

Mason nodded. “The last of the transfers has arrived. I do believe it’s time for a small celebration. Shall we join our guests in the library for a pre-dinner drink?”

“For the sort of money you’re paying, I imagine I can manage to dredge up some small-talk,” he drawled.

“I don’t think you’ll find it too difficult,” Mason commented. “Some of them are almost as keen on guns as you are.”

Dewar grinned. “Just as long as you remember that the guests aren’t the only ones who’ve been promised a crack at the good stuff.”

“I think you’ll find there’s plenty to go round, Dewar.” Mason stood up and swept out of the room, feeling the warm glow of satisfaction that came with being £20 million richer than he had been that morning.

The money would more than cover the exorbitant salaries of Dewar and his men, plus the crates of vintage champagne his guests would no doubt consume in the course of the evening. Mason’s investment in Farnley Hall was about to start paying some very serious dividends.


	7. Chapter 7

Claire Thackeray woke early as she always did and showered quickly before dressing in practical clothes: a pair of soft brushed denim trousers in olive green, a wide-sleeved cotton shirt a shade lighter and a pair of sandals that would, after breakfast, be replaced by walking boots.

Even at 7am the dining room was staffed by an attentive waiter who showed her to a table in front of the window and immediately equipped her with a cup of strong coffee. She was the first of the guests down to breakfast, but by the time she had finished a large plateful of scrambled eggs on toast and was sitting on the terrace outside the large French doors enjoying her first cigarette of the morning, others had started to arrive.

The mist that had shrouded the landscape the previous day had cleared, leaving behind no trace of its passing on a day that was already bright and warm, holding the promise of more heat when the sun rose higher in the sky. Claire drew the smoke into her lungs with evident pleasure and nodded companionably to Peter and Anne Churchill, ignoring the woman’s obviously disapproving glance and the way she ostentatiously changed tables to place herself out of range of the smoke.

The amount of alcohol consumed the previous night was clearly no barrier to the consumption of large breakfasts, but no one seemed terribly inclined to linger over their meals and an air of barely-contained excitement pervaded the room. The arrival of Ed Mason made heads swivel expectantly towards the door. He walked between the tables exchanging pleasantries and accepted the coffee held out to him by the waiter. With a showman’s talent, he allowed the tension to build before addressing his guests.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I hope everyone slept well last night. We’ll be leaving at 9am sharp. As I mentioned yesterday, I would advise everyone to apply insect repellent before we go and to please ensure that all mobile phones and cameras are left in your rooms.” His smile was pleasant but no one was left in any doubt that he intended that last instruction to be followed.

Claire Thackeray glanced at her watch and removed her mobile phone from a pocket, staring down at the display as she tapped in a number from memory. She saw Mason’s eyes on her and looked up at him with a grimace. “Managed to leave my old one on the plane on the way over here. Still haven’t worked out how to store numbers on this ruddy thing.”

“You need to find a teenager to do it for you,” Mason advised.

She gave a sharp bark of laughter then transferred her attention back to the phone as the person she was calling answered. “Mother? I haven’t woken you up, have I?” A smile curved her reddened lips. “It’s a lovely day here as well… Yes, I think a week away at a spa is exactly what I needed… What have you got planned for today?” The conversation drifted on, with Claire Thackeray taking frequent drags on her cigarette and executing some perfectly timed eye-rolls until she finally managed to extricate herself from the conversation, saying, “Must dash, mother, yes, I’ll ring you this evening.”

“A week at a health spa?” Mason commented with a bland smile.

“It’s as good an explanation as any, but I still have to phone her every day or she sulks.” She fumbled for the off button on the phone and slid it back into her pocket. “Well, that’s my duty done.” She stood up and made her way back upstairs.

A uniformed maid pushing a large laundry basket passed her in the corridor. The bed had been made and the room aired. Claire tossed the phone carelessly onto the bed and slipped off her sandals, before pulling on thick walking socks and the expensive but obviously well-worn boots. A thorough application of insect repellent followed, as advised, and Claire Thackeray pulled on a multi-pocketed safari-style waistcoat and tucked the spray away for future use.

Down in the large hallway, guests were already assembling. “Reminds me of school trips,” commented Lizzie Henderson. “I always used to eat my sandwiches before we’d even left the car park.”

“Judging by the hampers I’ve just seen in the back of one of the Land Rovers we won’t be going hungry,” her husband said. “Maybe it’s to make up for the fact that we won’t be travelling in quite such style today.”

“And we won’t run short of ammunition either,” Charlie Marsh said with an admiring glance in the direction of their transport. Yesterday’s fleet of highly-polished Range Rovers had been replaced by four drab green ex-army Land Rovers. “Dewar clearly believes in being prepared for every eventuality. I’m sure I saw someone carrying a Gimpy a minute ago.”

“We don’t all read Andy McNab books, darling,” Anne Churchill said casting a long-suffering glance at her husband.

“General purpose machine gun, Mrs Churchill,” supplied Carl Dewar. The man appeared behind the group as noiselessly as a cat despite his heavy boots. “Just a precaution, you understand.”

“Like something with a bit of stopping power, do you?” quizzed Derrick Grigson. He was a florid-faced man in his late 50s who seemed none the worse for the fact that he had single-handedly drunk a full bottle of champagne the previous night before dinner had even been served.

“There are occasions when it doesn’t go amiss,” Dewar acknowledged. He smiled at Claire Thackeray and added, “The Remington 750 you wanted has been packed, ma’am. There’ll be time for a practice session when we’ve gone through.” He glanced around the hall, obviously conducting a quick head count.

“We’re just waiting for Tony Porter,” supplied Mason. He smiled widely at his guests as he made his way down the stairs. “He got here late last night.”

“His wife isn’t coming, is she?” asked Henry Dawes with a wink.

“I bet she would, given half a chance,” Grigson laughed. “But I think she’s a bit tied up with that business on the Isle of Wight. Honestly, how on earth could anyone let a bunch of prisoners up onto a roof in this day and age? They should shoot the bloody lot of ‘em.”

“Sorry to hold everyone up,” said a fresh voice as a tall man in his mid 40s, with the bland good looks of someone who could easily have modelled suits for M&S followed Mason down the stairs, wearing yet another multi-pocketed jacket, but carrying it off with more style than most of the other guests.

Mason smiled in acknowledgement of the apology and waved a hand towards the vehicles.

His guests needed no further encouragement.

* * * * *

Stephen wandered out of the shower to find Ryan still engaged in his normal morning exercise regime, a light sheen of sweat on his back and a look of concentration on his face.

The soldier was determined to get back to full operational fitness as quickly as possible. He was back up to 200 press-ups without experiencing any problems and had kept up easily with Stephen on yesterday’s run. The doctors appeared quite happy with his recovery from the head injury that had nearly cost him his life and even Ditzy was muttering about the fact that it would be preferable to have him back on frontline duties rather than hanging around the ARC making everyone’s life a misery on the subject of paperwork.

Ryan turned smoothly over onto his back and started on a punishing routine of sit-ups, hands linked loosely behind his head, setting a pace Stephen knew he couldn’t hope to match, no matter how hard he tried.

The ringing of Ryan’s mobile phone broke the silence. Stephen fished it out of the pocket of a jacket draped over the back of a chair and tossed it to him

Ryan caught the phone deftly and took the call. “Jon? Any news?” He listened in silence then said, “OK, so it looks like nothing is going to happen before tomorrow at the earliest.” In answer to a question from Lyle, Ryan said, “I haven’t heard from Joel yet, but I’ll call him now. Yeah, I’ll get back to you if there’s anything to tell.”

“Has she checked in?” Stephen asked. Lyle had telephoned them the previous evening and brought them up to speed. They’d both been waiting to hear whether Julia Denton had made contact with her friend.

Ryan nodded. “She rang at 8.15. But according to Lyle it sounds like she promised to check in again this evening rather than giving it the full 24 hours.”

“How’s Lyle taking it?”

“He still wants to start kicking some doors down, but there’s no way Lester’s going to get clearance for that without a bloody good reason.” He ran his finger down the screen and pressed a number that Stephen knew would be Stringer’s. “Joel, how’s it going?” Ryan laughed unsympathetically at the reply and said, “You’re getting soft in your old age, mate. Do you want me to send one of the lads over to give you a break?”

Stringer and his contacts had been staking out the entrances to Mason’s estate since Friday evening, reporting on the various comings and goings of the staff and other visitors. Back at the ARC, Connor was busily checking on the registration numbers of any vehicles seen entering or leaving the estate. In view of the Home Secretary’s order to leave Ed Mason well alone, the young computer genius had been unable to go through the proper channels to get the information he needed, but Stephen had a suspicion that Connor wasn’t letting a problem like that cramp his style.

“OK, speak to you later,” Ryan told his fellow captain before ending the call. “The last person into the estate apart from staff arrived at 1.45 in the morning, driving a brand new Ferrari. Mason has certainly got some well-heeled friends.”

“Well, if they’re doing what we think they’re doing, something should come up pretty soon on that gismo of Connor’s,” Stephen said.

Connor’s new anomaly detection device had had its teething problems, but he now seemed pretty confident of its capabilities and the team was already starting to rely on it to provide accurate information about the appearance and location of anomalies, rather than simply waiting around to pick up news by other, more hit-and-miss, methods.

They had a meeting scheduled at the ARC at 2pm to share information, but unless the ADD signalled an alert before then, they had the rest of the morning to themselves. As Ryan went back to his sit-ups, Stephen leaned against the doorframe and watched as the muscles of Ryan’s abdomen clenched with each movement. Stephen loosened the towel around his waist and let it slide to the floor as he dropped a hand to his half-hard cock. Ryan wasn’t the only one capable of putting on a show.

* * * * *

The convoy of vehicles made their way through Mason’s estate, heading towards a long, low hill next to a copse of beech trees. It looked like a very large scale version of one of the many long barrows that lay scattered around the landscape in other parts of the country. As the Land Rovers came closer, one end of the mound started to rise up into the air, small clods of earth dropping to the ground as it moved, exposing a cavernous mouth previously disguised by a metal door covered with turf.

Inside the vehicles, no one spoke, but the atmosphere was now redolent with excitement. The lead Land Rover, containing Carl Dewar and three of his men, all heavily-armed, carried on straight into what had now been revealed as an artificial tunnel. Once inside, a pair of solid metal doors opened to reveal a pair of identical inner gates with just enough space between them for two vehicles, positioned bumper to bumper, like cars on a Channel Tunnel train. The second Land Rover, carrying Ed Mason, a driver and two of the guests, drew up behind it while the rest of the convoy halted in the warmth of the morning sunlight.

The outer gates swung closed, leaving two vehicles outside to wait their turn. The inner gates opened silently, away from the Land Rovers and several pairs of eyes squinted in the sudden flash of light. The drivers put their vehicles into gear and drove slowly through something that looked like a gigantic diamond that had been shattered by an even bigger hammer. A brief moment of disorientation followed and then sunlight streamed in through the windscreens.

The silence inside each of the vehicles was absolute as the Land Rovers advanced over short grass into a landscape as gentle and rolling as the Kent countryside they’d just left behind. The only difference lay in the total absence of trees and in the myriad shattered diamonds that spun lazily in the air as far as the eye could see in any direction.

A few moments later, the rest of the convoy appeared behind them and the four vehicles set off in close formation across the grass, with Dewar and his men, hard-eyed and alert, gripping a variety of weapons. The silence in each vehicle had given way to exclamations of surprise and sharp intakes of breath. Marker posts had been hammered into the ground next to several of the swirling balls of light. Each one bore a number. The Land Rovers made their way to one next to a post marked 15 and the lead vehicle containing Dewar and his men drove straight into the fragmented vortex, each of them clutching their rifles firmly against a sudden force that tried to part them from their weapons.

In the third Land Rover, Derrick Grigson swore in surprise as a pen was suddenly pulled out of his pocket to clatter against the windscreen. The driver caught the pen one-handed and a moment later, tossed it back over his shoulder. Grigson, staring open-mouthed at the abrupt change in landscape all around them as they passed through the glittering light, simply let the pen fall unheeded into the footwell.

Short grass had given way to a lush forest. Trees interspersed with giant ferns surrounded them. Dark green vegetation hung with brightly-coloured blooms swayed in a light breeze. The air was hot and humid, a far cry form the freshness of the English countryside they had left behind.

Mason had been economical with the description of what his guests could expect from the transition and he had not made any attempt to communicate by radio with any of the vehicles while the shock gradually wore off. They drove out of the trees and the convoy made its way across a wide, shallow river, the clear, unpolluted water sparkling in the sunlight. Once they had left the river behind, the wheels crunched over sun-dried debris that spoke of occasional higher-water conditions and they were soon amongst the trees again following a rough trail beaten down by their exploratory trips to find the best hunting grounds. After ten minutes driving, the lead Land Rover pulled up in a large clearing and Dewar and his men fanned out, rifles raised in readiness while the men scanned the surrounding area.

When Dewar raised a hand in a pre-arranged signal, Mason held down the button on the radio and announced, “Welcome to the Cretaceous, ladies and gentlemen. I’m sure none of you need reminding that you are now in what is probably the most hostile environment the world has ever known. Mr Dewar and his men are here to ensure your safety. Please follow their instructions at all times. You will all receive a personal radio and instructions on its use. Keep it with you at all time and do not, I repeat, do not wander off on your own. If you do, I cannot be responsible for what might happen. If ordered to return to the vehicles, please do so immediately, without question. I can assure you that you will all receive your money’s worth from Gallifrey Ventures, but from now on, instructions are to be obeyed at all times. Now, if you’d be so kind as to leave the vehicles, Mr Dewar will equip you all with the weapons of your choice and we’ll make our way to the hunting grounds.”

Wearing a self-satisfied smile, Mason opened the door of his Land Rover and stepped out to be surrounded immediately by the low drone of insects and the rich, loamy smell of warm earth.

The sight of ten multi-millionaires, who had visited practically every exotic location the world had to offer, reduced to stunned silence told him all he needed to know. Basically, he could name his own price for this sort of experience and they’d be happy to pay it.

A couple of Dewar’s men lifted the gun cases out of the vehicles and began their distribution. The guests weren’t here simply to admire the wildlife from a distance. They’d paid a premium price for an excursion with a difference, even though they wouldn’t be able to mount their trophies on their walls afterwards.

As far as Mason was concerned, with the whole of time at his disposal a few creatures here or there would make no difference and he certainly hadn’t drawn his clientele from the ranks of panda-hugging conservationists. His guests took a pragmatic approach to wildlife as evidenced by the number of hunting rifles being handed out.

He checked his watch. They’d been away from Farnley Hall less than an hour and had a full day ahead of them. He was already confident that they would all be paying for another trip. The looks on their faces told him all he needed to know.

* * * * *

Stephen pillowed his head on Ryan’s shoulder, lying in a sweat-soaked sprawl, as his lover’s fingers played idly with Stephen’s well-fucked hole.

“Stop listening to my heart rate,” Ryan muttered, dipping one finger into Stephen’s body and rubbing it lightly over his over-sensitive prostate.

“Stop trying to distract me,” Stephen countered, wriggling away from the probing digit. “Anyway, there’s nothing wrong with your heart rate.”

“That’s what I’ve been telling Ditz.”

“You could try getting him to watch a heart-monitor while you shag him senseless,” Stephen suggested, flicking his tongue across one of Ryan’s nipples and tasting the salty tang of the other man’s sweat.

“Ditzy doesn’t go for blokes.”

“That’s what Lyle said before he took up with Lester.”

Ryan laughed. “I’m not letting that bastard’s cold hands anywhere near my cock, thank you very much, Hart. Besides, his girlfriend would thread my balls on a kebab stick if I tried it, and believe me, you wouldn’t want to mess with Claire. Why, fancy watching me fuck another bloke, do you?”

Stephen shifted position up onto one elbow and grinned speculatively down at Ryan. “Maybe. We came bloody close to it in the barn that day with Jon and Lester, didn’t we?”

Ryan’s own grin took on a slightly feral edge. “Yeah, but I wasn’t convinced that dicking my boss’s boyfriend while he was watching was entirely wise, especially not when Lyle’s the one I rely on for back-up when the chips are down.”

“Didn’t worry the Spartans,” Stephen pointed out. “Or the Thebans.”

Ryan groaned. “You’ve been reading books again, Hart.”

Stephen bent down and kissed Ryan lightly on the lips. “No sense of adventure, that’s your problem.”

“I deal with dinosaurs on a daily basis, sweetheart, that’s adventurous enough for me.”

Stephen deepened the kiss, dipping his tongue into Ryan’s mouth. They had a couple of hours to fill before they were due at the ARC for the afternoon meeting Lester had called and he was happy to make the most of it. Memories of the session in the barn at the Mitchells’ hotel in the Forest of Dean when Ryan and Lyle had squared off against each other in a series of increasingly dangerous games were already starting to stir some interest in his spent cock…

* * * * *

Claire Thackeray lay full length on a bed of fern leaves, sighting through the scope on the Remington 570 hunting rifle, its weight supported by a small tripod. Her quarry was at no more than 500 metres and the rifle itself had an effective range of over double that.

Carl Dewar stood with his back to the bole of a massive pine tree, eyes scanning the landscape for threats. In the last couple of hours he’d worked out pretty quickly that the main problem lay in the tendency of his employer’s guests to get over-excited and simply wander off in pursuit of bigger and better game. They were on the second hunting ground of the morning, about ten kilometres to the west of where they’d started from. As he’d expected, there was already pressure from the guests to split into two groups so they could cover more ground, giving each person more opportunity to have a crack at the good stuff before the noise of the guns drove the game out of the area.

He had resisted that idea so far, but he had a feeling Mason was about to succumb to his guests’ blandishments. Dewar had six guards for ten guests and he wasn’t happy with the prospect of spreading his forces more thinly. No matter what the trigger-happy group thought, this environment was very different indeed from anywhere else they’d been, including the parts of the African rain forests were there were plenty of people ready to earn a living by guiding hunters to remote areas where over-stretched and under-paid reserve wardens held no sway. The worst they’d probably faced there was a silverback gorilla who didn’t like trespassers, but here there was no shortage of things ready, willing and able to attack anyone who ventured into the wrong territory and it was only a matter of time before the bloody corpses now littering the ground started to attract the really big predators.

“In your own time, ma’am,” Dewar murmured, hoping his words would have exactly the opposite effect on Claire Thackeray. The length of time she’d taken to line up this shot was already starting to make the other members of the group impatient and he was worried they’d start trying to wander off again.

He watched as she made one last check on the enormous creature that was peacefully grazing on the tops of a clump of ferns. It was an ugly sod, with a bright red bump on the top of its snout. Some sort of bony growth, from what he could see, but he had no idea what purpose it served unless it was to make the lumbering beast look more ferocious. The creature stopped, turned its head, peering myopically in the direction of the group and their vehicles and then it stretched its fleshy neck and emitted a load, rumbling bellow just as Claire Thackeray squeezed the trigger.

The shot went wide, punching though the fern fronds. The loud crack of the rifle report startled the beast and it moved off with surprising speed for something so bulky.

“Bugger it!” the woman exclaimed in annoyance. “I was certain I was going to be lucky that time.”

Dewar bit back his irritation and managed to stop himself pointing out that lack of luck had nothing to do with it. She’d waited too long to take the shot, it was as simple as that.

“Never mind, my dear,” Ed Mason said smoothly. “You just need a bit of time to get used to that Remington. Maybe a few practice shots would help? I was thinking of suggesting we took a trip to another spot after lunch where you can get your eye in. I’ve got a few targets you can use to get that Remington set up the way you’d like it.”

Dewar shot Mason an irritated glance. This was the last thing he needed.

Mason waved an airy hand. “I’ll take Ben with me, Carl, no needed to worry. Claire won’t come to any harm with us.” The look Mason was giving him told Dewar quite plainly that his employer wasn’t expecting an argument and wouldn’t be pleased to get one.

Dewar shrugged. “As you like, boss.”

Claire Thackeray stood up, brushing leaves off her clothes. “I’m sure I’ll be fine after a few more shots. No need to make special arrangements for me.”

Dewar knew his employer well enough to catch the momentary flash of anger in the man’s eyes at the casual way the woman had brushed off the suggestion and he wondered why Mason seemed keen to get the woman away from the rest of the group.

The mercenary slung the strap of his rifle over his shoulder. They would need to move on, anyway. That last shot had disturbed the herd of grazers who were now steadily moving off to the west.

“I think you’ll find now is a good time for an early lunch, ladies and gentlemen,” Mason announced. “After that, I imagine we’ll find that the fruits of this morning’s labours will have started to attract some interest.”

“I want a T. rex or I’ll be asking for my money back,” laughed Derrick Grigson, but Dewar knew the man was only half-joking. It was quite obvious that despite the fact that they’d already seen sights that no human being had ever seen before, they all desperately wanted the icing on the cake.

It was the most feared predator ever to walk the earth, if the books were to be believed. Having seen one even at a comfortable distance a few days previously, Dewar could understand the fascination. He wanted a crack at one himself, but he’d have to bide his time. The guests needed to satisfy their own blood lust first.

But not before they’d downed large amounts of smoked salmon sandwiches and a few bottles of chilled champagne. Something else that wasn’t usually available in the African rainforest.

“You’ll get your wish, Derrick,” Mason smiled. “Trust me.”

And Dewar was pretty sure his employer’s confidence wasn’t misplaced. They’d left enough bait around, he was certain something was going to bite.


	8. Chapter 8

Sunday afternoon notwithstanding, the conference room of the ARC was already crowded by the time Lester made his way down from his office at exactly 2pm and took his accustomed place at the head of the long table.

Stephen Hart lounged in his chair, dark hair standing up in spikes, looking as though he’d been ridden hard and put away wet, which was certainly not impossible. Ryan sat at his side, grey eyes calm and expressionless, in total contrast to Lester’s lover who was on his feet, leaning against the wall, looking restless. It was clear that several hours on the underground shooting range had done nothing to calm Lyle’s obvious agitation.

At a pointed nod from Ryan, Lyle slid into a seat, both hands rammed into the pockets of his leather jacket. Cutter and Abby arrived together and took seats on either side of Claudia, who had already amassed an impressive file of paperwork on Ed Mason, garnered, Lester hoped, without alerting the Home Secretary’s minions to their interest in the man. A moment later, Connor arrived at a run, looking – if possible – even more dishevelled than usual, with mismatched gloves, a short-sleeved teeshirt over a long-sleeved one, a fashion that Lester signally failed to comprehend. The tight red trousers left a lot to be desired and the whole lot was topped off with yet another of the boy’s waistcoats. However, Connor made up for his lack of sartorial elegance in other ways, although Lester didn’t want to enquire too closely into some of his methods of obtaining information, useful though they were.

He cleared his throat and rapped the desk with his pen to bring the meeting to order. “Thank you for coming in on a Sunday, ladies and gentlemen, however, in view of information that has come to light about Mr Mason, I felt further discussion was needed. It now seems reasonably clear that Mason is charging paying customers a great deal of money for something. Something that is quite possible related to his desire to obtain prehistoric creatures for his zoo.”

“How much money?” Cutter asked.

“Two million pounds.”

Lester had the satisfaction of watching Cutter’s eyebrows shoot up to meet his equally surprised-looking hair. The professor’s assistant wasn’t the only one who contrived to look like he’d just got out of bed even in the middle of the day.

“Each?”

Lester nodded.

“That’s a lot of money to pay to look at a few animals in a zoo.” Cutter’s eyes had narrowed suspiciously. “Come on, Lester, what else do you know?”

“Not as much as I’d like,” Lester admitted. “But several people, including Mr Temple, are working to rectify that situation. The money has been traced to an off-shore company rejoicing in the name of Gallifrey Ventures. For those unaware of the significance of that name, Mr Temple will no doubt be delighted to provide enlightenment.”

“It’s the home world of Dr Who and the Time Lords,” Connor said, grinning widely. “It’s located in the constellation of Kasterborous and…”

“Thank you, Mr Temple, I think we get the drift,” Lester said quickly. “Time Lords, ladies and gentlemen. Something of a clue, perhaps?”

“That would mean he has access to an anomaly,” said Cutter. He glanced at Connor. “I thought that machine of yours was working properly now?”

Connor nodded. “It is, Professor. But maybe he’s waiting for one to open.”

“They’re not like buses, Conn,” commented Abby.

“A moot point,” Lester said. “The anomaly in the Forest of Dean has an unfortunate habit of returning to trouble our lives. But if I’d just paid £2 million for a trip to the Permian, or wherever, I’d be less than happy to spend a several weeks waiting around for it to arrive.”

“Some of the people who are visiting Mason at the moment aren’t exactly known for their patience, either.” Claudia fished a sheet of paper out of her file. “Captain Stringer has supplied a list of some of the recent arrivals at Farnley Hall.” She ran her eyes down the list. “George and Elizabeth Henderson: he made his money off the back of a mining venture in South Africa. Henry Dawson: banking and finance. Derrick Grigson: old money. The Art Squad have had suspicions for a while that he’s trading in looted antiquities, but so far they lack enough evidence to act on. Connor is still running traces on the others, but one thing has jumped out at us already. All these people share a common interest in big game hunting and they have the time and money to pursue it at their leisure.”

Cutter’s hair went from surprised to startled in a heartbeat. “He’s running hunting trips to the past?” The rs rolled around the room, betraying his agitation.

“That is certainly one possibility,” Lester acknowledged.

“It would explain why Carl Dewar’s there,” Ryan said. “He’s ridden shotgun for hunters in the past.”

“It would also explain the amount of back-up he’s got,” Stephen said. “I doubt it would do Mason’s business enterprise any good if his customers end up getting eaten.”

“So we wait for the ADD to pick up some activity in his area and then go in mob-handed,” Connor said brightly. “The Home Secretary can’t keep us out if that happens, can she?”

“Is there any way that machine of yours would fail to pick up an anomaly?” Lyle demanded. “It didn’t get that one off the coast when Claudia was at her school reunion.”

“That one was in a mobile phone black spot and satellite coverage was patchy that day. Mason’s place is in Kent. It’s not the same.”

“What about if the anomaly is underground?”

“Then the ADD wouldn’t pick it up,” Connor admitted. “But there aren’t any caves in Kent, are there?”

“Caves aren’t the only sort of things you find underground,” Lyle snapped, and Lester could see that his normally-relaxed lover was on a knife-edge with concern. “Parts of Kent are riddled with coal mines. And there are tunnels and old military bunkers everywhere. What if there’s something like that in his grounds? The place is big enough.”

Lester held his hand up. “Jon, I know you’re worried, but we need something more than suspicion if I’m to go against a direct instruction from the Home Secretary.”

Lyle shifted uneasily in his chair and stared moodily at a point on the wall behind Connor’s left ear, leaving their technical genius looking equally uncomfortable. Lester had a feeling that yet another debate on the limitations of the Anomaly Detection Device was about to kick off.

* * * * *

The humid heat of the Cretaceous had wrapped itself around the group like an unwelcome blanket. A thick bank of cloud had rolled over the forest in the past half an hour, bringing the threat of rain. A low rumble of thunder had already been heard in the distance but Mason’s guests had no intention of allowing a downpour to dampen their enthusiasm for the afternoon’s planned activities.

Lunch had been eaten in the shelter of a giant fern and the smoking pile of pine cones lit by one of Dewar’s men had been surprisingly successful in keeping the worst of the insects at bay. Champagne bottles were thrown back into hampers and the remains of the meal were packed away. Clearly no one felt inclined to linger any longer than necessary as the prospect of further hunting beckoned.

“Claire, I have a few targets set up a little way from here. Are you sure you wouldn’t care to take the opportunity to adjust the sights on that rifle to your liking?” Ed Mason gestured to one of the Land Rovers.

“I’d hate to miss any of the sport,” the woman drawled, lighting yet another cigarette from the butt of her previous one. She stood up, swaying slightly and put out a hand to steady herself.

“Claire?” Mason’s voice was concerned and he caught her as she stumbled.

The woman dropped her cigarette, her hand shaking slightly. She cursed under her breath and blinked in confusion. “What the…”

“Are you all right, dear?” Anne Churchill asked in concern. “You’ve gone awfully pale.”

Claire Thackeray opened her mouth to reply but no words emerged. The other woman put her arm solicitously around her shoulder while Mason held her elbow to keep her upright.

“She doesn’t look too good,” Derrick Grigson commented. “It’s probably this damned heat.”

“I’ll… I’ll be fine,” Claire replied, shaking her head. “Just feel a bit… woozy.”

“Too much champagne,” Charlie Marsh commented heartily. “You need to sleep it off, old girl.”

“One glass,” the woman replied, confusion clearly stamped on her tanned face. “Need to sit down…” She swayed again and would have fallen if it hadn’t been for Mason at her side. He steered her in the direction of one of the Land Rovers and helped her into a seat.

“Better get her out of here,” advised George Henderson in something of a stage whisper, earning him a glare from his wife. “We don’t want her keeling over on us.”

Carl Dewar finished loading a large hamper into the back of one of the vehicles and came over to join the group staring with concern at the woman as she leaned back in the seat, eyes closed, obviously trying to steady her breathing. “She doesn’t look too bright, boss,” he said quietly to Mason. “Has she got any medical conditions?”

“Not that I know of,” Mason muttered, frowning. “I’ll take her back to the house. Can you hold the fort here until I get back?”

Dewar nodded. “No problem. Take two of the lads with you.”

Mason shook his head. “That’ll leave you short. I’ll take Harris with me, that’ll be enough. It won’t take long. We’ll be back within an hour.”

“Just make sure you bring back some umbrellas,” Dewar said, looking up at the darkening clouds. “We’ll be soaked by the end of the day.”

“Plenty of towels back at the Hall,” Mason grinned, clapping the other man on the shoulder. “I’ll bring a few back with me. All right, Claire, we’ll have you tucked up in bed in no time, and don’t worry, you won’t miss out on the sport, I promise you. You’ve paid for the trip of a lifetime and I’ll make sure you get it. You’ll be as right as rain by tomorrow.” He patted her on the shoulder and reached around to fasten the seat belt.

Ben Harris slid into the driver’s seat and put the key into the ignition. The other guests were not doing a very good job of hiding their relief at the fact that their companion’s indisposition clearly wasn’t going to impact on their own entertainment, and before the Land Rover had even left the clearing, the remainder of the hunting party had picked up their weapons and were staring with anticipation at Carl Dewar. Mason watched with amusement as the mercenary smiled and waved his hand at the other vehicles. The ensuing scramble would have done credit to a group of children on a school trip.

“Drive carefully, Ben,” he said to the other man. “Mrs Thackeray really doesn’t look at all well.”

Ben Harris glanced over his shoulder at their passenger. “No, she doesn’t, does she, boss?” The smile he gave her was anything but pleasant, and the moment the vehicle had pulled away from the clearing, he slammed it into a higher gear and pressed his foot on the accelerator pedal.

The Land Rover gathered speed and Claire Thackeray’s head lolled against the window as she struggled to sit upright, a look of growing alarm in her eyes. After a few minutes, she took a deep breath and managed to speak, although her words were slurred and hesitant. “Not… the way we came…”

Ed Mason turned around in his seat and raised his eyebrows enquiringly. “Isn’t it? I would have thought you’d be a bit beyond noticing that sort of thing by now. Oh dear, don’t tell me I misjudged the dosage, did I? I was expecting you to be fast asleep by now.”

Her eyes widened as his words sunk in.

“Do you think she’s worked it out by now, boss?” Ben Harris asked as he glanced in the rear view mirror and watched as the remaining colour drained out of the woman’s face.

The Land Rover bounced over the rough ground as Claire Thackeray fumbled at the clasp of her seatbelt with fingers that were slow to respond. By the time she’d succeeding in unfastening the restraint, the vehicle had gathered speed and had left the trees and massive ferns behind, crossing an area of more open ground, heading for a low hill ringed with bushes loaded with brightly-coloured flowers. Harris brought the vehicle to a halt and both men watched as the woman scrabbled frantically at the door, finally managing to open in. She slumped sideways, half in, half out of the Land Rover as her legs seemed intent on disobeying whatever orders they were being given by her fuddled brain.

Ed Mason opened the passenger door and calmly walked around to watch as Claire Thackeray tumbled out onto the ground and looked up at him, fear finally registering in her hazel eyes.

He leaned against the olive green paintwork and stared down at her. “Did you really think I wouldn’t make some background checks on my customers?” he asked, in a conversational tone. “I know money talks, and you did do a quite remarkable job of covering your tracks, but I’ve got a long memory, my dear, and you were quite well-known in your day, even though you do look rather different as a bottle-blonde.” He reached out with a booted foot and used it to ruffle her hair.

She shrunk away from him, doing her best to struggle up into a sitting position. “Don’t know… what you’re talking about…” The words were still slurred and she was breathing heavily now.

Mason laughed humourlessly. “Like hell you don’t.”

Ben Harris opened the driver’s door and jumped out, looking down at the woman with amusement. “Time for some fun?”

A loud crack of thunder made both men jump. Large raindrops suddenly started to fall from a sky now completely covered over with dark clouds. Around them fern fronds waved in a sudden breeze that had blown up from nowhere, disturbing the heaviness that had settled on the atmosphere in the past hour as the storm finally broke.

“How melodramatic,” Mason remarked. He glanced at his watch and nodded. “All right, but don’t take too long over it. We still need to stage our little accident and get back to the others to break the unfortunate news.”

Though the drug-induced haze that had settled on her mind with the thickness of a Victorian smog, the woman who had been masquerading as Claire Thackeray stared up at the two men, registering the look of bored indifference on Mason’s face in complete contrast to the expression of almost feral hunger on that of his companion. She tried to struggle to her feet, but her body stubbornly refused to obey any instruction she tried to give it.

* * * * *

A wave of exhaustion rolled over her and as the downpour started to soak her to the skin, Julia Denton finally lost the battle with her own limbs and sank back onto the damp ground. She’d worked in enough war zones in her life to be under no illusion about what was going to happen next but with a hefty dose of rohypnol, or something similar, in her bloodstream her only consolation was that she probably wouldn’t remember it afterwards, although from the look on the two men’s faces, she didn’t hold out much hope that there would even be an afterwards.

* * * * *

“Abby,” Lester said, raising his voice sufficiently to be heard over the technical debate in progress between Connor and Cutter over the possible limitations of the Anomaly Detection Device. “Are you confident that you can gain entry to Farnley Hall under the guise of a zoo inspection team?”

She grinned at him and nodded. “I’ve got the documentation to get us in there and if he rings the number on the notepaper we’ll show him then he’ll find himself speaking to Lorraine.”

“And if he looks the number up in the telephone book?”

“We’ll be screwed, but at least we will have got inside without kicking any doors down.”

Lester was certain that no matter what they did, Mason would be on the phone to his contacts in government in a matter of minutes, but the plan – such as it was – would be well-served simply by getting a team into the grounds without violence. Once there he would just have to hope Cutter and the others could obtain evidence of Mason’s activities quickly enough to provide some defence against the inevitable shit storm that would blow up as soon as word of their activities got back to the Home Secretary.

A sudden curse from Lyle drew his attention. The lieutenant had gone an alarming shade of grey and looked like he was about to throw up. “Jon?”

“We can’t wait until tomorrow,” the soldier said, a note of desperation in his voice that Lester didn’t ever remember hearing before. “She’s in trouble. We need to go in now!”

Lyle surged to his feet, his hand instinctively reaching for a holstered pistol, even though he was dressed in civilian clothes wearing jeans, a teeshirt and a leather jacket instead of his usual attire of black combat fatigues.

“We have been instructed not to tread on Mason’s toes,” Lester said, hating himself as soon as the words were out of his mouth.

“Fuck that!” Lyle’s hazel eyes were beseeching, at odds somehow with the violence of his words. “James, she’s in trouble!”

The use of his first name in a work setting did more to shock Lester than the look on his lover’s face. He stood up, feeling that control of the situation was in danger of slipping away from him. “Jon, I know you’re concerned…”

“James…” Lyle was clearly fighting for control and was holding onto what was left of his composure with difficulty. Before he was able to formulate the rest of the sentence, a look of surprise crossed Lyle’s face and he doubled over, clutched his stomach and started to retch. Only Stephen’s fast reactions got a metal wastepaper basket in front of him before Lyle expelled both his breakfast and the numerous cups of coffee he’d been drinking.

Ryan was on his feet in a heartbeat, one hand on his friend’s shoulder as Lyle coughed and retched. “I don’t think we can afford to wait, sir. Jon isn’t usually wrong and I’ve never seen anything affect him this badly.” The captain’s grey eyes radiated concern. “We can try the fake IDs now as well as we could tomorrow.”

“I very much doubt that even emergency zoo inspections get carried out on a Sunday afternoon, Captain. You wouldn’t find anyone to sanction the overtime in this economic climate.” Lester drew in a deep breath, clamping firmly down on his own emotions. “We have been ordered to leave Mason alone,” he said, knowing perfectly well that he was just about to put at risk a relationship that meant more to him that his marriage had ever done. “Do I need to remind you that I am directly answerable to the Home Secretary, Ryan? The same Home Secretary that has told me in no uncertain terms that Farnley Hall is off limits.”

Lyle spat into the wastepaper basket and wiped his mouth on a tissue handed to him by Claudia. He straightened up, looking pale but determined. “I’m sorry, James. If you want to stop me, you’ll have to order Ryan to do it by force.” And the look in his eyes told Lester that if he gave that order, there would be no way back from it, for either of them.

Lester hesitated, conscious of the fact that every pair of eyes in the room was trained on him but for once, no one rushed to fill the silence. Thoughts churned around in his head, but he kept coming back to the knowledge that the current Home Secretary had disliked him for more years than he cared to remember and would no doubt seize on any excuse to wrest command of the anomaly project from him and put one of her cronies in his place. Her orders had been quite explicit, almost as if she had been daring him to make a move in Mason’s direction.

A tentative knock on the conference room door broke the silence. A scared-looking technician put her head around the door, clutching a piece of paper.

“Not now!” Lester barked.

The woman backed away whilst casting a pleading glance at Connor. With an apologetic look, Connor sidled out of his chair, grabbed the piece of paper and sat back down while the technician scurried off.

Lyle took a step towards him, his normally open face now studiously devoid of expression. “I’m sorry, James,” he said quietly, as if room contained only the two of them.

Lester knew that if Lyle took one more step, he would be going beyond the point of no return. They both would.

He drew in a long breath, held it for a moment and then announced with as much composure as he could muster, “Professor Cutter, you and your team have my full authority to investigate a suspected anomaly in the grounds of Farnley Hall. Captain Ryan, I trust you are now well enough to accompany the team in a supervisory capacity? I would appreciate it if door-kicking could be kept to a minimum. Stick to the zoo inspection story if you can. If you can’t, or if you meet armed resistance, then please feel free to exercise your not inconsiderable experience and improvise.”

A look of relieved incredulity replaced the blank expression on Lyle’s face. “Thank you, James,” he said quietly.

“Thank me tomorrow if we’ve all still got our jobs,” Lester said. A moment later, he reached out and gripped Lyle’s shoulder. “Be careful, Jon.”

The soldier’s hazel eyes now held nothing but the same calm detachment that Lester recognised from their time together in the Devil’s Crowll. Lyle smiled slightly and said, “I’ll clear up the mess in the bin when I get back.”

Lester sighed and pulled the other man into a quick hug then stepped back. “Save your mother, Jon. Now go, before I have a sudden return to sanity.”

Lyle’s smile was all the answer he needed.

A moment later there was a sudden scramble out of the room. As Connor left he handed Lester the sheet of paper he’d received from the technician. “It’s the results of the trace on the rest of the car numbers Captain Stringer gave me.”

As the team headed for the locker rooms and the armoury to grab their kit, Lester glanced down at the piece of paper in his hand and his eyes widened in surprise. He was still staring thoughtfully at the same list of names and numbers five minutes later as a stream of black vehicles left the ARC.


	9. Chapter 9

Ricky Carey leaned across a desk littered with empty coffee mugs to open the window in the small office. He was dying for a fag but Mason’s harridan of a personal assistant would have him on a charge if she caught him lighting up inside the building. With the majority of the lads riding shotgun for the guests, he was stuck inside by himself, so he’d have to make do with an open window and hope that cleared the smell of smoke.

The bank of computer screens continued to display activity in and around the sprawling estate. The chimpanzees were amusing themselves as usual by lobbing clods of earth and lumps of their own shit over into the next enclosure. They were surprisingly accurate, as several of the security team had discovered much to their disgust. The big cats were sleeping, not that they seemed to do much else unless it was feeding time, and in the big containment sheds his boss’s newest acquisitions were ripping apart their latest batch of dead chickens and staring moodily at the cameras as if they knew they were under surveillance and resented it.

Carey flicked his ash out of the window and exchanged glares with something that in his opinion looked like an ostrich that had spent the last six months gorging on steroids and lifting heavy weights. The bird – if that’s what it was – scraped at the sandy floor of the shed with a taloned foot and then headbutted the wall. They seemed to have skulls like steel judging by the way one of the sods had managed to crack the armoured glass on one of the vehicles they’d used to take Mason’s paying guests around their enclosure. They’d also proved bloody hard to recapture once the show had been over.

A loud buzz disturbed the silence. Carey swivelled around to stare at the monitors and immediately identified the cause of the noise. Two large black vans had pulled up outside the main entrance.

He pressed the intercom button and demanded, “Yeah?”

The passenger door of the lead vehicle opened and a small bleached-blonde woman in her mid 20s got out, carrying a clipboard and wearing a black jacket with yellow high-visibility stripes that looked at least two sizes too large for her. She stood in front on the gatepost and stared up at the camera.

“Can you open the gates, please? I have authority from Kent County Council to conduct a special inspection of these premises under section 11 of the Zoo Licensing Act 1981.” She lifted up a plastic covered identity card hanging around her neck on a thin chain and waved it at the camera.

The diminutive blonde was looking up at the CCTV camera with a glare almost as hard as the one he’d just been getting from the freaks in the shed. “It’s Sunday,” he said, for once at a loss for a quick reply.

“I am aware of that. Now are you going to open the gate or am I going to have to call on the police for assistance? We do have statutory rights of entry under the Act and I haven’t got all day.”

“You can’t just come barging in here,” Carey told her even though he had a sneaking suspicion that she could.

“I think you’ll find we can,” she commented giving him a pleasant smile. “Now open the gates, please, sir. The sooner we get started, the sooner we’ll finish.”

“Park at the front of the house. I’ll send someone down to meet you,” Carey said, pressing the button to open the gates.

As the vans swept up the driveway he flipped a switch on the control panel underneath the bank of monitors. “We have visitors,” he announced over the radio. “Official ones from the council. An inspection is about to take place. Please ensure that all animals are confined safely within their proper enclosures and await further instructions.”

They had plans in place for this sort of eventuality, especially after the recent break-in, and if Mason’s small army of keepers wanted to stay in gainful employment they’d better make sure they acted quickly. Carey reckoned they had about half an hour to implement the emergency procedures for making sure no one got an unscheduled freak show. Until then, he had every expectation that the formidable Mrs Willoughby would have no difficulty in keeping a few pen-pushers at bay. For a start off, Mason’s personal assistant was twice the size and weight of the blonde bimbo who was on her way up to the house.

* * * * *

Rain was falling hard in fat drops that hammered through the leafy canopy of the trees, parted the fern fronds and splattered on the ground like small, water-filled balloons. In spite of the downpour, the atmosphere was hot and oppressive, and the wind that was whipping the treetops into a frenzy had failed to dispel the enervating humidity that had made everyone’s clothes stick to their bodies even before the rain had soaked the hunting party to the skin.

Carl Dewar glanced uneasily at the sky. The cloud bank had reduced the light level to such an extent that even the high-powered scopes on the various rifles were failing to deliver the goods. It had taken Tony Porter three shots to bring down something that looked like a cross between a rhino and a giant bear. Dewar had no idea what the thing was, but he’d been within a heartbeat of trying to finish it off himself when it had looked like it had been about to charge straight at the group.

Porter’s second shot had gone wide when a crack of thunder had disturbed the man just as he’d squeezed the trigger. Porter had reloaded competently and quickly, and his third bullet had stopped the creature in its tracks, earning him congratulations from the others, all eager to take their turn at increasing the rate of extinction amongst animals that Dewar had never expected to see outside the confines of a picture book.

The mercenary glanced down at his watch. Mason had been gone three-quarters of an hour and would hopefully be on his way back by now. Dewar wasn’t enjoying being stuck in the middle of what was starting to resemble the central African rainforest in the middle of a storm that was well on the way to being the worst he’d ever experienced. Mason’s guests were determined to get their money’s worth and Dewar knew perfectly well that any suggestion that they should make their way back to the time portal would be greeted with derision.

A long, rumbling growl of thunder rolled towards them, followed immediately by an explosive crack in the air as sheet lightning flashed across the sky. The noise spooked a small herd of herbivores that had been grazing about 500 metres away, seemingly oblivious to the storm, and equally oblivious to the fact that some of them had been just about to feel the punch of a high velocity hunting round.

A second crack followed hard on the heels of the first and this time fork-lightning split the clouds, leaping to earth and striking a tall pine tree a couple of hundred metres away. Dewar glanced at the vehicles, wondering whether he should order everyone into the Land Rovers, whether they liked it or not. The metal shells, connected to the ground by the rubber of the tyres should provide some protection from the lightning. He’d been in a small plane flying over the jungle in Rwanda once when it had suffered a lightning strike. The plane had been unaffected and the pilot had remained remarkably calm but it had nearly given him a brown-trouser moment.

Tony Porter caught the look on his face and gestured up at the trees. “It’ll hit them before it gets anywhere near us.”

“I’m sure you’re right, sir,” Dewar said tactfully, mentally cursing the fact that his employer wasn’t around to deal with the fall-out from any decisions he had to take.

“Oh my God!” Lizzie Henderson’s voice was low and awed.

Dewar turned around, looking where she was pointing, and any hope of persuading the hunting party that discretion was the better part of valour in their current circumstances promptly evaporated.

The Tyrannosaurus rex stalked into view through a clump of low-lying ferns at the edge of the forest. Dewar had seen one before at a distance, but this was closer than any of the others had been and he felt a sudden flush of adrenaline through his system accompanied by a visceral twist of fear in his guts that he hadn’t experienced for a very long time in the presence of any animal.

It stood nearly six metres tall, even allowing for its stooped posture, and would measure at least 12 metres in length, from its heavy, massively-jawed head, to the tip of its long tail, held horizontally out from its body. The creature was a mottled green-brown that blended well with the foliage of both the forest and the more open area into which it was now accelerating at a surprisingly graceful run.

This was one creature on which Carl Dewar had done his homework. It paid to be prepared when there was a good chance you were going to get a crack at one of the most impressive apex predators ever born. He knew opinion differed on whether T. rex had been a hunter or a scavenger, but he’d agreed with Mason’s assessment that few carnivores would pass up a fresh corpse, which was why the guests had been happily warming up on any number of other creatures, leaving a trail of fresh meat across the landscape that had been bound to attract attention.

The noise of the storm wouldn’t cover its approach for long. The huge, muscled thighs were powering it across the soft ground faster than a horse could gallop, its small forearms tucked up close to the deep chest. The powerful jaws were already open, gaping wide in a skull that measured at least 1.5 metres from the deep, flared nostrils to its thick neck. Its bite would sever a human being in half without any noticeable effort.

In spite of the firepower they could bring to bear on it, Dewar was experiencing an unwelcome feeling of powerlessness. He could see the same awed look on the faces of both his own men and the guests that he knew he was exhibiting and with a feeling bordering on embarrassment at his own weakness he snapped his mouth closed and nodded curtly to Baz Gunter, a veteran of numerous African hunting trips, who was carrying the Gimpy. Baz had the heavy weapon slung over his shoulder on a strap and was more than capable of firing it like that. He was built like a brick shit-house and had nerves of steel, which Dewar had been glad of on more than one occasion.

One of the herbivores lifted its head and let out a braying sound like a startled donkey only ten times louder. The herd reacted immediately and started to scatter, just as the tyrannosaur barrelled into their midst, bowling one of the creatures over, in spite of its own imposing bulk. With a speed and ferocity that Dewar had never witnessed before, the powerful jaw opened even wider and clamped down on the long neck of its prey. Blood sprayed like a fountain from a severed artery, but the creature’s struggles still continued although its attempts to free itself were obviously futile.

At Dewar’s side, Tony Porter calmly loaded his rifle and remarked, “Looks like this little jaunt is going to prove to be worth the money after all.”

* * * * *

Stephen fought to suppress a grin as Abby contrived to stare down her nose at a woman who topped her by nearly half a metre in height. The woman had introduced herself as Ed Mason’s personal assistant and she was clearly determined to stall them for as long as possible, while Abby was equally determined not to be stalled.

“This establishment received a glowing report in our last periodical inspection,” the woman sniffed, looking like she’d just experienced a particularly unpleasant smell.

“I’m not disputing that, Mrs Willoughby, but the local authority has discretion to instigate a special inspection if it considers one to be necessary, which is why we’re here now.”

“We’re entitled to proper notice,” Mrs Willoughby announced, with the air of a woman who had just played her trump card.

“And you’ve been given proper notice,” Abby countered.

“Turning up unannounced on a Sunday afternoon hardly constitutes proper notice!”

“I quite agree, but sending a letter by recorded delivery nine days in advance of the inspection date certainly does.” Abby flipped through the papers on her clipboard and displayed the forged Royal Mail receipt that Connor had provided, complete with the equally forged signature of one of Mason’s keepers obtained by Connor from the Passport Office’s records by means that Lester definitely wouldn’t have sanctioned.

Stephen was impressed by how well Abby and Connor had set this stunt up and it looked very much like they were about to achieve access to the zoo without having to resort to violence. The so-called inspection team consisting of Abby, Stephen and Cutter were all wired for sound and the conversation was being transmitted back to the vans containing Connor and the military contingent.

By now, Connor would also be monitoring any radio transmissions in the house and grounds as well, although the only one they’d picked up on their way in had been innocuous, but Stephen didn’t believe for a minute that Mason’s set up was innocent. The reports from Stringer’s friends in the Animal Liberation Front were enough to have aroused suspicion without the evidence of Lyle’s agitation and on top of that, Stephen had worked with the Special Forces lieutenant long enough to have a healthy respect for Lyle’s predictive capabilities.

Mrs Willoughby stared down at the Royal Mail receipt slip as though she couldn’t believe her eyes. She didn’t look like the sort of woman who was easily stopped in her tracks, but she clearly wasn’t happy at having been out-manoeuvred like that. “I’ll need to make a phone call before I can allow you into the grounds.”

“You can make all the phone calls you want while we’re conducting the inspection,” Abby said, standing her ground in the face of the other woman’s obvious anger. “To speed things up, I have the assistance of some colleagues who will be looking at the heath and safety aspects of the zoo’s operation. I’d like to start with a tour of the animal containment facilities and we’ll be back to look at the paperwork later. I’d also like to see all your acquisition and breeding records, but that can wait until later as well.”

“Might I ask what has prompted this inspection?” Mrs Willoughby demanded.

“You can, but that is not something I’m obliged to answer. Suffice it to say that the local authority has received reports that have led to concerns that your means of preventing the escape of the animals in your care might be inadequate, but that’s a matter that we’re here to determine. Now, if you’d don’t mind, we’ll make a start.”

They were equipped with plans of the estate that Connor had been able to obtain from Kent County Council, again by means that probably weren’t entirely legal. They also had copies of the last two inspection reports, but what they needed to do was work out whether there was anywhere in the house and grounds that was capable of concealing an anomaly. They all carried portable detection devices and Connor had a larger version in one of the vans, but so far that must have drawn a blank.

Stephen just hoped that Ryan would be successful in keeping Lyle’s urge to apply a size nine boot to anything that stood between him and his search for his mother. He’d already noticed that they were being observed from the top of the stairs by a man in his early 30s who looked more than capable of handling himself in a fight.

* * * * *

The storm was gathering in intensity by the minute but the rain didn’t appear to have dampened Ben Harris’s enthusiasm. Ed Mason watched impassively as the mercenary finally spent himself inside the woman’s unresponsive body and rolled over, sporting a wide grin as he allowed the rain to wash the sweat off his face.

“We haven’t got all bloody day,” Mason commented, turning the key in the ignition. “If you’ve quite finished, we’ve got an accident to stage.”

Harris zipped his trousers up and clambered to his feet. “Sure thing, boss.” He looked down at his victim’s pale face and nudged her with his foot. She didn’t even stir. “Want me to finish her off?”

Mason glanced at the nearby forest. “I imagine there’ll be plenty of things fighting for that privilege. Come on, let’s get a move on.

Harris shrugged and made his way around to the passenger side. As they drove off, Mason took one last look over his shoulder. The world wouldn’t miss a nosy tabloid hack. She would have done better to have stayed in retirement. As it was, she’d soon be providing a snack for some of the ungrateful wildlife that she’d spent the morning carefully avoiding killing.

The rain was rapidly turning the already-soft ground into a quagmire and on a couple of occasions even the Land Rover suffered from wheel-spin. About half of the way back to where they’d left the others, Mason deliberately swiped the front wing on a tree, producing a large dent and making it look as through something had run into them at speed. He brought the vehicle to a halt while Harris slammed the butt of his rifle hard into one of the rear windows, shattering it and spraying broken glass onto the back seat. A few deep gouges from his knife into the metal of the door added to the effect. He’d brought a container of blood to give the impression that the Land Rover had been subjected to an animal attack and once Mason was happy with the results he gave Harris the nod and the mercenary fired half a dozen shots from his rifle into the air.

Harris jumped back in. “Boss, do you think we should check out the river? It’ll only be a detour of a few minutes. It’s fucking hammering down out there and I don’t think it’ll stay shallow much longer.”

Mason watched the water flowing over the windscreen, almost too heavy for the wipers to cope. Harris was right. A storm of this size could easily create a flash-flood. They hadn’t been in the area in these conditions before and they would have to cross the river on their way back to the site of the portal. Checking it out was a sensible idea.

As he drove, the storm gathered momentum. Whether his guests liked it or not, Mason was certain that they’d need to make an earlier than scheduled return to Farnley Hall, although he wasn’t convinced that the loss of one of the party would, by itself, be deemed a good reason to cut their visit short, but a river in danger of flooding couldn’t be ignored.

Five minutes later, he stared in horror at a frothing maelstrom of brown water, carrying with it tree trunks and other assorted debris. Only a few hours ago this had been a wide, shallow almost dry channel. He glanced at Harris and muttered, “Good call, Ben. Reckon we can cross it?”

Harris frowned. “It’s not that deep yet, but it’s fast and it looks like it’s still rising. Two of the other vehicles have got high exhausts so they’d probably be OK, but I’d rather not take this one unless we really have to.”

Yet another rumble of thunder greeted his words as the vehicle lurched away over the soft ground, littered now with debris of leaves, pine cones and broken branches that the storm was bringing down from the trees. Huge fern fronds swayed as the wind gusted even more strongly, slamming into the side of the Land Rover with increasing force, blowing rain in through the broken rear window and diluting the blood that streaked the interior.

“We’d better sit it out,” Mason said, swinging the Land Rover Discovery away from the flood waters. “I think it’s time to break the bad news to our friends that dear old Claire didn’t make it.”


	10. Chapter 10

“I have the Home Secretary on the phone again, Sir James,” Lorraine told him, her face as impassive as ever. “Would you like me to tell her you’re still unavailable?”

Lester glanced at the clock on the wall. He’d avoided his pursuer for the past hour by switching his mobile phone off and getting Lorraine to tell the irritating woman that as far as she knew, he was on his way into the office and was expected shortly. But if he played hard to get for much longer, he wouldn’t put it past the Home Secretary to track him down in person.

“Do put her through,” he said, settling himself down in his chair. “And get Cutter on the other line, if you can. I want to know if he’s turned anything up yet.”

A moment later, Lester’s phone buzzed and he steeled himself for the tirade he knew he was about to be subjected to. Gillian Clement wasn’t known for her even temper and she hated being crossed. “Home Secretary, so sorry to have kept you waiting. The hands-free system in my car appears to be malfunctioning.”

“Then get it fixed, James,” she snapped. “I’m sure your budget will run to that, although if you carry on the way you’re doing at the moment, you’ll find yourself sequestered in the Welsh Assembly by the end of the week. I thought I’d made myself quite clear on the subject of Mr Mason?”

“You did, Home Secretary,” Lester acknowledged.

“Then why are your people currently masquerading as zoo inspectors?”

“Masquerading as zoo inspectors? I’m sure there must have been some mistake.”

“You heard me, James, and don’t play innocent, it doesn’t suit you. I’ve seen photographs: that blonde girl, Maitland, plus your mad Scottish professor and his pretty-boy assistant. I want them out of there and I want them out of there now.”

Lester leaned back in his chair and stared at the Spartan helmet on his desk before answering. “I’m terribly sorry, Gillian, but I’m afraid I can’t oblige. Your Mr Mason is dabbling in something that concerns the anomaly project and even the size of his donations to the party can’t buy his way out of that.”

“That is a wholly offensive suggestion.” Gillian Clements’ voice had taken on a hard edge that Lester recognised all too well. “Get your bunch of cowboys out of Farnley Hall immediately.”

He glanced down at the piece of paper on his desk with a list of car numbers and registered owners. When he’d given the order to Cutter’s team to put their plan into action he’d been operating on nothing more than a mixture of hope and instinct, but then Temple had handed him a possible trump card.

“You must have misheard me, Gillian,” Lester said, knowing how much it annoyed her when anybody had the temerity to address her by name. “I said I’m afraid I can’t oblige. My enquiries have turned up some quite interesting information on Mr Mason and his associates. Does the name Gallifrey Ventures mean anything to you, by any chance?”

Her hesitation told Lester all he needed to know and he allowed himself a small smile, even though Lorraine had just appeared in his room and indicated, with a shake of her head, that Cutter and the team hadn’t yet been successful in their search of Mason’s premises.

“I shall be speaking to the Prime Minister about your actions, James. You’ve gone too far this time.”

“You’re blustering, Gillian. We both know why you won’t be involving the PM, but I can assure you that I most certainly will be doing exactly that, first thing tomorrow morning. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.” He replaced the handset with more force than usual and smiled benignly at Lorraine. “If the Prime Minister rings, do put him through.”

“Do you expect him to?”

“No. But I might be pleasantly surprised.”

She smiled back at him. “I’ll make some more coffee, shall I?”

* * * * *

The sound of gunshots in the distance died away. Dewar pulled his radio from his pocket and thumbed the transmission switch. “Boss, was that you?” The crackle of static was all that greeted his words. It looked like the storm was playing havoc with their comms. He tried again. “Boss, have you got a problem?”

As he spoke, the tyrannosaurus lifted its bloody jaws from the still-quivering corpse of the huge herbivore and stared around as though it was somehow aware of the high-powered hunting rifles trained on it. A low growl issued from its throat and the creature’s nostrils twitched.

Carl Dewar swore violently under his breath, earning him a disapproving glance from one of the women. “The wind’s changed,” he said, tightening his grip on his own rifle. “Our scent’s being carried to it. If you’re going to take the shot, gentlemen, I’d suggest now is a good time.”

Tony Porter smiled and needed no second urging. The crack of his rifle was almost drowned out by a loud burst of thunder, but the red blood that bloomed on the creature’s neck bore witness to the man’s accuracy. Another volley of shots followed tearing into the tyrannosaurus’s thick hide. It shook its great head and roared, more in anger than in pain, from what Dewar could see. It took a step towards them, head thrown back, exposing its throat.

Before anyone else could react, Porter calmly reloaded his rifle and fired again. For a moment Dewar thought the man had succeeded in getting a killing shot as blood fountained from the creature’s neck, then it lowered its head and charged straight at them with the speed of a galloping horse.

“Run!” Dewar yelled the order as loudly as he could whilst swinging his own rifle up and trying to aim for a head shot. Nothing else seemed to be working

The chatter of rapid fire told him that Baz Gunter had just brought the Gimpy to bear on the rapidly-approaching problem. Dewar held his breath and squeezed the trigger at exactly the same moment that the tyrannosaur lowered its head and powered forward even faster than before, seemingly unaffected by the blood loss from the numerous wounds it had taken. Screams erupted around Dewar and the mercenary flung himself sideways, grabbing one of the women by the arm and dragging her with him.

The sound of the machine gun came to abrupt halt and was replaced by the unmistakable sound of bone being crushed between powerful jaws. For the first and only time since he’d known the man, Dewar heard Gunter scream. The giant predator crushed Gunter’s ribcage and the scream died away to a gurgle. It shook the body the way a terrier would shake a rat and the man’s head lolled limply from his shoulders. It dropped him to the ground like a broken doll and roared again.

Dewar glanced around to see who was still in view. With the Gimpy out of action, they’d need all the firepower they had to bring the T. rex down. He loosed off a shot quickly and heard two other gunshots at almost the same time. More blood sprayed across the mottled grey-green skin but it still didn’t go down. Dewar had seen an old bull elephant like that once, taking shot after shot without slowing down, the lead punching into its body only seeming to enrage rather than weaken. It had killed three people before they’d finally succeeded in bringing it to its knees, and this creature was larger and tougher than anything modern Africa harboured.

As the tyrannosaur rampaged amongst the vehicles crushing the bonnet of one with a powerful foot and heaving another over onto its side, the complete folly of what his employer had done came crashing home to Dewar. In this world man was the hunted, not the hunter. They’d be lucky if any of them escaped alive. He could hear answering bellows in the forest now and knew the noises came from the throats of more predators: it looked very much like their situation was about to deteriorate further. The predator had seized a second person, Dewar couldn’t tell who, and a third was lying on the ground, mangled beyond belief.

Another shot rang out and a steel-jacketed bullet finally embedded itself in the creature’s brain. It paused, head swinging from side to side, and Dewar realised that the massive hind legs were finally starting to show signs of buckling.

Henry Dawson stepped out from the shelter of the trees, his rifle held to his shoulder. While Dewar was reloading, the man fired, his bullet exploding the creature’s blood and brain matter in a wide spray. Almost as if in slow motion, T. rex toppled sideways, managing to cause maximum damage even in death, as it fell onto the Land Rovers, smashing them like children’s toys. Dewar closed his eyes for a moment in horror. He’d seen people take shelter behind those vehicles.

Less than a minute later, Dewar was still trying to ascertain how many casualties they’d taken as Mason’s vehicle drove into the clearing and came to a halt in front of a scene of complete devastation. From the state of the other man’s vehicle, they weren’t the only ones who had encountered trouble.

Answering the unspoken question, Mason said, “We were attacked. Claire didn’t make it.”

“She’s not the only one,” Dewar said.

One look at the still-bleeding carcass crushing at least two of the Land Rovers clearly told Mason all he needed to know. Despite his tan, the man’s face was now as pale as a shroud. The geese that laid the golden eggs weren’t meant to end up on a dinner plate.

“There’s a river in flood between us and the portal,” Mason said, staring around him in shock. “Evacuating this lot isn’t going to be easy.”

The sound of screaming reinforced Mason’s point. Dewar was impressed by the man’s calm in the face of an event that would almost certainly bring a multi-million pound business venture to a messy end.

“Find the ones that aren’t screaming,” Dewar said. “They’re the ones we need to get out of here first. And check how many vehicles we still have.”

He stared up at a sky that still held more rain and wondered how much this world still had held in reserve to throw at them.

* * * * *

Stephen stared down at the portable anomaly detector in his hand and wondered if shaking it would help. From the rueful look on Cutter’s face, he knew the same thought had crossed his mind as well.

They’d spent the past two hours working their way around Mason’s estate. Abby was doing a very good job of keeping up the cover for their operation. She’d already found at least three infractions of the relevant legislation, mainly in connection with the conditions in which the great apes were being kept but they were no closer to finding out where Mason was keeping the animals that had attacked Stringer’s contacts.

To his surprise, they hadn’t been pulled off the case, in spite of their lack of success, although according to Lyle, Lester had come under heavy fire from the Home Secretary but was holding his ground. The lieutenant was still as twitchy as hell, but had his temper under control and so far hadn’t given in to the temptation to start kicking doors down.

Mason’s personal assistant, the formidable Mrs Willoughby, had dogged their heels during the entire visit, and he knew they were still being watched by the short-haired bloke that he’d instantly pegged as ex-military. Ryan, Lyle and Stringer, together with the rest of the military contingent consisting of Blade, Ditzy, Finn and Kermit were still cooped up inside the vans, monitoring any radio communications within the estate, although so far they’d picked up nothing of interest. Blade had supplied a positive identification of the short-haired bloke as Ricky Carey, ex-Sandline mercenary and logistics specialist.

For what must have been the hundredth time that afternoon, Stephen glanced at the portable anomaly detector. Still nothing. He was about to stuff it back in his pocket when the small screen suddenly lit up and the box emitted a high-pitched series of bleeps.

A moment later, Connor’s excited voice shouted in his ear through the radio, “We’ve got something!”

Stephen half-expected the device to go dead again but it didn’t. If anything, the bleeping simply intensified.

“Half a mile away!” Connor again. “I’ve got a fix on it. We’re bringing up the vans.”

Moments later, the two black vans arrived and Stephen jumped in with Cutter. Abby came out of one of the sheds at a run, the man called Ricky Carey following close behind her. As the rear doors slammed shut behind Abby, Stephen saw the man heading for a Range Rover.

“We’re being followed,” Connor confirmed, from one of the front seats.

A moment later, a burst of static crackled in Stephen’s ear and he heard an unfamiliar voice demanding, “Carey, get medical assistance! We have casualties! I repeat we have casualties!”

The van bounced along the track through the parkland, passing beside the enclosure that held the big cats then heading for a copse of trees next to a long, low mound. The radio communications were suffering their usual anomaly-related problems, but Stephen was able to pick out a few words in reply.

“…company, we have company…”

“…ck that, get a fucking ambulance…” There was no mistaking the urgency in the other voice.

Stringer brought the van to a shuddering halt and before it had even stopped moving, Ditzy had the back open and was out, his medical kit in his hands. Stephen was hard on his heels, as were the rest of the team. The Range Rover containing Carey arrived a moment later. Stephen stared in amazement at the mound in front of them. One end of it gaped open, a raised hatch above it, covered by turf so that – when closed – it would have simply blended in with the rest of the scenery. Inside, a pair of large metal doors stood open and inside them Stephen could see the unmistakeable light of an anomaly, twisting and turning as though held prisoner in the tunnel.

Outside the artificial mound, a battered Land Rover stood with its doors open, dripping water from its interior. Stephen heard a man’s voice, frantic with worry saying, “Help her, for God’s sake, help her!”

Lyle covered the distance between the van and the other vehicle in several long strides.

“It’s not her, Jon,” Ditzy said. “Give me room to work and get that fucking ambulance!”

Lyle pulled out his phone but was forestalled by Carey who’d been almost as quick out of his own vehicle as the rest of them had. “I’ve already called it in. Hello, Lyle.”

The lieutenant gave the other man a slight nod. “Ricky. Are you going to tell me what the fuck’s going on?”

“You know as much as me,” the mercenary said. “I presume you’ve been listening to the same radio feed.”

“They’ve built a Faraday cage!” The announcement came from Connor who was now standing inside the mound, staring around him. “That’s why we weren’t picking anything up! Professor, come and look at this!”

Cutter shot a helpless look inside the van, obviously now aware of what Stephen had already seen. Blood. An awful lot of blood. On the back seats, another passenger was staring out at him, white-faced with shock. The man was cradling his own arm and looked like he was about to pass out, but he was in better shape that the woman laid out in the back. Abby opened the rear door and helped him out.

Stephen could hear Ditzy talking quietly and reassuringly. Beside him stood a man of little more than medium height, strongly but not heavily built. His clothes were wet and his short light-brown hair stood up in damp spikes. He had been driving the Land Rover and was now staring into the back of it, his face an impassive mask.

Ditzy straightened up and said quietly, “I’m sorry.”

“No!” The denial came from a man in his mid 60s, covered in blood that probably wasn’t his own. “No! You can’t just stop! There must be something you can do!”

“I’m sorry,” Ditzy repeated. “There was nothing I could do. She was already gone.” He stared hard at the man standing next to him. “How many more casualties have you got and where are they?”

“One with us.” He nodded to the man leaning against the side of the Land Rover, breathing heavily. “Ted’s got a broken arm and several broken ribs. Lizzie was the worst. There’s a woman stuck under a vehicle. I left my men trying to free her. One man’s got a broken leg that needs splinting. I had to give priority to Lizzie. She was bleeding out.” The man’s accent was a soft Texan drawl. Stephen presumed this was the mercenary he’d heard the others refer to as Carl Dewar.

Ditzy’s expression softened for a moment. “You did the right thing. I’m sorry I couldn’t help her.” He put his hand on the older man’s arm as he cradled the woman’s broken body in his arms, even more blood soaking into his clothing. “Sir, we’re going to need to move her.” To Dewar he said, “Is this the only vehicle you’ve got that can tackle the river?”

“There’s one with a high exhaust on the other side if they’ve managed to get it upright again. There’s also one down at the house. Ricky, get it up here now. And bring whatever we’ve got by way of medical kit.”

“On it, boss,” Carey said, taking off at a run.

At a gesture from Ditzy, Stephen moved up to help him manoeuvre the dead woman’s body as gently as they could out of the back of the Land Rover while Abby put her arm around her husband and tried to lead him away. He simply shook his head and knelt on the short grass, still clutching his wife’s hand, his face slack with shock. Ditzy started to examine the man with the broken arm.

Lyle, standing to one side, a rifle now cradled in his arms, stared into the dark tunnel out of which Dewar had driven and demanded, “Where’s my mother, Dewar?”

The look of surprise on the mercenary’s face was unforced. “Lyle?”

“My mother, Carl, where the fuck is she?”

Dewar continued to look genuinely puzzled as Lyle took a step forward, flanked by both Ryan and Stringer. “I don’t even know your mother.”

“She’s on the other side of that fucking anomaly,” Lyle said, swinging his rifle up. “And you’re going to take me to her.”

“Lyle, I have no fucking…”

“The names of everyone in your little hunting party, Dewar, tell us the names…” The interruption came from Stringer.

Dewar glanced at the man still kneeling on the ground, sobbing. “George Henderson. That was his wife, Lizzie.” He nodded in the direction of the other man. “That’s Ted McCallum. On the other side there’s Peter and Anne Churchill. She’s the one who’s trapped under one of the vehicles. Charlie Marsh, the one with the broken leg. Henry Dawson and Derrick Grigson. I think they’re both dead.” He hesitated for a moment and then added, “Tony Porter. He was uninjured. He stayed behind to help Mason and my men with the injured.”

“There was another woman.” Lyle’s voice held absolute certainty. “Where is she?”

Dewar’s eyes widened slightly. “She didn’t make it.”

“Her name, Dewar,” Stringer demanded.

“Thackeray. Claire Thackeray.”

Lyle closed his eyes for a moment and then swore violently, starting forwards towards the mercenary. Ryan grabbed his arm and said urgently, “Jon?”

“Claire is her middle name. Bob Thackeray was her second husband. What the fuck happened?” Lyle’s voice was as cold and brittle as breaking ice. He levelled his rifle at Dewar’s right knee.

Stephen saw a look of uncertainty cross Dewar’s face. “I don’t know, Lyle. She was taken ill, Mason said he’d bring her back here…” The uncertainty deepened into something else and the mercenary hesitated. “He said they were attached by something and she was dragged out of the vehicle.”

“Dewar, tell me what the fuck you know and tell me now…” Lyle shook off Ryan’s restraining hand and took another step forward.

“We heard shots and I saw the damage to his Land Rover. I didn’t quiz him on the details. It was fucking carnage where we were.” He met Lyle’s eyes without flinching and demanded, “What the fuck was your mother doing with that lot, Lyle?”

“What she does best,” said Lyle ruefully, the anger draining from him as quickly as it had flared up as he recognised that Dewar was now as puzzled as he was. “Getting into fucking trouble. But I won’t believe she’s dead until I see her body.”

From what Stephen had just seen and heard, Lyle’s mother wasn’t the only one who had got into trouble, either.


	11. Chapter 11

Julia Denton felt the rain beating down on her and heard yet another roll of thunder. The torrential fall of water from the cloud-laden sky had forced her unwillingly back to consciousness, but as yet she hadn’t managed to regain the use of her legs. Her memory of the time that had passed since Mason had bundled her into the back of the Land Rover was hazy, but the fact that she had been stripped from the waist down was enough to help her fill in some of the gaps.

She knew she’d been slipped some sort of drug in the champagne that Mason had handed around over lunch. Probably rohypnol. She’d covered a case of celebrity date-rape a few years ago. It had resulted in the so-called star concerned making a hasty exit from his multi-million pound presenting job when the injunction his lawyers were seeking had collapsed after traces of the drug had been found in a glass in his flat that he’d failed to dispose of properly. Julia’s mind drifted for a moment to a past that was distinctly preferable to the present…

A high-pitched chirruping noise penetrated her drug-dulled mind. Julia did her best to sit up, levering herself up on the soft ground on one elbow. She found herself looking into a pair of small, dark eyes set in a thin, beaked face that could have come straight out of Jurassic Park. She didn’t need telling what would happen next if she couldn’t manage to defend herself, but her legs were still stubbornly refusing to obey orders and her arms felt like they had lead weights attached to them.

Julia stared back at the creature, feeling strangely disassociated from what was happening to her. It was as though she was viewing the world through binoculars from the end of a long, dark tunnel. She groped blindly with one hand, feeling for a rock or a stick or anything, but all she found was wet earth. Then a wave of sickness hit her. Her stomach heaved violently and expelled at speed everything she’d eaten that day. The roll of thunder overhead drowned out her gasps and the rain washed the trails of vomit from her chin.

She barely felt it when the creature pecked at her foot.

* * * * *

By the time Ryan had arranged for more vehicles to be brought up from Farnley Hall, ten minutes had passed. The captain had flatly refused to let Lyle go on ahead. For a moment, Stephen had half-expected Lyle to challenge that order, but the look in Ryan’s grey eyes had made it abundantly clear that he was expecting to be obeyed. Military discipline had over-ridden emotion and while they waited for the vehicles, with Connor and Cutter still taking readings from the anomaly and interrogating Dewar, Lyle had stepped to one side and reported to Lester by phone.

An ambulance had taken Ted McCallum to hospital. Before it had left, Ditzy had calmly commandeered various items of kit, including stretchers and intravenous fluids and had packed everything into the back of one of the Land Rovers. Both Claudia and Lester were now on their way to Farnley Hall by helicopter to contain the inevitable fall-out from the deaths of several rich – and no doubt influential – people.

As soon as Ryan was satisfied they were as prepared as they could be for what they were going to encounter, he gave the order and a convoy of three vehicles set off into the short section of tunnel. They were taking the Land Rover Dewar had driven, plus another with a high exhaust suitable for the passage of a river in flood, and a Range Rover Discovery to help with the evacuation if needed. With them came Ricky Carey, carrying some radio kit he’d brought from the house. Ryan had accepted the mercenary’s offer of help. From the story Dewar had told, another man who could handle a gun wouldn’t go amiss.

Stephen stared around him at metal walls and understood what Connor had meant by a Faraday cage. The artificial mound was lined with metal over which earth had been heaped and turfed over to create a small hillock. Into it had been built an internal gate, as well as the front hatch that lifted up to allow access. Provided the two were never opened at once, no radio signal from the anomaly would reach their detectors. They’d only picked it up at all because in his haste, Dewar had simply brought his vehicle through without waiting to close the internal gate behind him.

According to Connor, the electrical field generated by the anomaly was being grounded by the metal and so the radio wave emissions were not reaching the detector in the ARC, although they had registered on that machine as well as on their hand-held devices as soon as both doors had been opened. The readings Connor had taken showed that the anomaly was both strong and stable. Dewar said it had remained open for the past nine months and had shown no signs of closing. Mason had arranged for the building of the metal cage seven months ago. The work had been completed just before Connor had brought the prototype of the Anomaly Detection Device on line for the first time.

Stephen was in the lead vehicle driven by Dewar, with Ryan at his side, a rifle cradled across the captain’s knees. He experienced the usual moment of brief disorientation as they passed through the anomaly into bright sunshine. He stared around him in amazement, seeing the same gently rolling hills covered with short grass that he’d encountered once before, when he and Ryan had chased Helen through the anomaly that had disgorged the infected dodos. All around them, anomalies sparkled in the light, shining like a myriad fractured diamonds.

He heard Connor’s awed, “Wow,” at the same time as Cutter said something slightly more profane.

“How many of these have you been through, man?” Cutter demanded as Dewar accelerated towards another anomaly.

The mercenary shrugged. “A dozen, maybe. Not all of them stay the same.”

“You’ve got the records?” Connor sounded like someone had just rolled all his birthdays and Christmases into one and handed them to him on a plate with a sprig of holly on top.

“Mason has. The notes are back at the house.” Dewar hit the brakes, changed into a lower gear and said, “Hold on, it’s going to get a bit rough through the next one.”

Torrential rain hit the windscreen as soon as the vehicle passed through the anomaly and the tyres struggled for grip on the sodden ground. A loud crack of thunder accompanied a bolt of lightning almost as bright as the one they’d just passed through. An electrostatic charge crackled through their radios. Stephen cursed and pulled off his ear piece as around him others did the same. Dewar swerved to avoid a gigantic fern frond beaten down by the force of the rain drops.

“This is the Cretaceous all right,” Cutter declared, staring around him at a landscape filled with massive ferns and huge trees, mainly pines of some description. All Dewar did was nod. If the mercenary was surprised to find himself surrounded by a bunch of people all with knowledge of portals to other times, he certainly wasn’t showing it, and Stephen was simply getting the impression that the man was just glad he didn’t have to cope with what was happening on his own.

While they’d waited for the additional transport, the mercenary had filled them in on what had happened. Connor’s eyes had gone wide at the description of the tyrannosaurus attack, while Stephen had watched all the soldiers grip their weapons that bit harder. From what they’d heard, he was amazed that anyone had survived. Against probably the fiercest predator to have walked the earth, man stood only a very slim chance indeed, a fact that had been brought home to the hunting party in the worst possible way. Stephen and the soldiers all remembered their own previous run-in with tyrannosaurs in the Forest of Dean. It had taken a rocket launcher to bring them down with any degree of certainty – and that was not something they’d thought to bring with them when they’d been masquerading as zoo inspectors, a fact that his companions were no doubt cursing as much as he was.

The thought of someone abusing the anomalies with the express intention of killing living creatures had shocked Stephen more than he would have believed possible. As if fucking up their own world by hunting endangered species wasn’t enough, Mason had set up an operation specifically designed to cater to the blood lust of those for whom Africa or South America was no longer enough. In his time abroad, Stephen had seen the damage done by the likes of Mason at first hand and he hated him for it, even if he hadn’t yet met the man.

Stephen wasn’t the only one seething with anger, either. At his side, Lyle was staring around him in grim silence, as cold and collected as Stephen had ever seen him, even though he had to be tormenting himself with thoughts of what the hell had happened to his mother. Stephen had believed Dewar’s protestations that he had no idea what had happened to Lyle’s mother and so had Lyle, otherwise he didn’t think that any power of earth would have stopped Lyle getting the truth out of the mercenary by any means necessary. And Stephen doubted Ryan would have stood in his friend’s way. He had seen Ryan ruthlessly extracting information from one of Mason’s thugs in Cumbria and he knew perfectly well that his lover hadn’t spent the majority of his army career in Special Forces without learning how to break someone quickly and efficiently when he needed to.

If Ed Mason had any sense, he’d come clean at the first time of asking.

* * * * *

The helicopter touched down in the grounds of Farnley Hall. The pilot switched off the engine and the noise from the rotor-arms started to die away.

Lester pulled off the headphones that he’d been using to communicate with the pilot and waited for the co-pilot’s signal that he and Claudia could disembark. They made their way across the short grass of an immaculate lawn towards the entrance to the house where they were met by an immaculately-dressed woman in her late 50s. In spite of the fact that there were now three ambulances in the grounds waiting to receive casualties, the woman’s composure appeared to be unruffled.

“Sandra Willoughby,” she said, holding out a red-nailed hand. “Sir James Lester, I presume.”

Lester inclined his head and nodded to Claudia. “My assistant, Miss Brown.”

“I think you’ll find the Home Secretary is on her way,” Sandra Willoughby said, with the air of a woman playing a trump card.

“I rather thought she might be,” Lester said, favouring her with a smile. “Now, if you’d be so kind as to show me to Mr Mason’s office, I’d like to make a start on unravelling the paperwork for this little enterprise of his. Beginning with the records of exactly who is with him at the moment.”

The look the woman gave him would have gone a long way to freezing hell but Lester really didn’t give a damn.

* * * * *

The vehicles came to a halt on a small rise overlooking the river. Ryan stared out of the windscreen and uttered a quiet but heartfelt curse. He jumped out of the Land Rover onto the soaked ground and was joined by the others.

“How deep is it?” he demanded, addressing the question to Dewar.

“Looks like it’s come up a bit from when I crossed earlier. About a metre and a half, maybe a bit deeper. It’s hard to tell but it was over the wheel-arches then.” Dewar looked out across the wide mass of brown, foaming water.

“It’ll swamp the Discovery,” Ryan said, frowning over his shoulder at the other vehicles. “They’re shit in water this high, anyway. We’ll give it a go in yours and see how bad it is. Ditz, you’re with me and Lyle. If we get across we’re going to need a medic. Blade, you’re with us as well. Finn, if this is a goer, I want you driving the next vehicle, but not until I say so. You’re the best wheelman we’ve got in these conditions.” Ryan met Stringer’s eyes and said quietly, “If this fucks up, you wait until it goes down, OK?”

Stephen put his hand on Ryan’s arm. “I’m coming with you. We don’t know what’s happened to Lyle’s mother and if we get to the other side in one piece, you’re going to need a tracker.”

A momentary flash of indecision crossed his lover’s face then Ryan simply nodded. “Get in. No seat belts.”

Half of the medical kit was rapidly transferred to their Land Rover. Stephen jumped in the back with Lyle, Ditzy and Blade while Ryan took his place again next to Dewar. Without waiting to be told, Dewar slipped the vehicle into gear and turned the wheel to head a short way along the bank to their left. Stephen knew what the mercenary was doing. He was expecting the Land Rover to be carried downstream by the current, but he was aiming for the stony bank almost opposite their original position. Stephen had been on a tour of Iceland’s interior a few years ago where this was the accepted method of crossing rivers. It had nearly scared him shitless the first time, but to his surprise he’d soon got used to it.

Stephen braced himself against the back of Ryan’s seat. Dewar entered the water at an angle and almost immediately the wheels lost traction and the Land Rover started to drift. The mercenary swore under his breath and held the steering wheel steady. A moment later, Stephen felt the wheels bite on the river bed and for at least a minute they made progress under their own steam. Water started to seep in around the doors and pool at their feet.

The windscreen wipers were failing to keep up with the combination of rain and spray thrown up by the flood waters. A loud thump signified that something had just cannoned into the side of the vehicle next to Stephen and he felt it sway alarmingly. He peered out of the window expecting to see the branch of a tree. Instead he was looking at the rounded hump of a dead animal’s back. A small head on the end of a long neck bobbed loosely in the water before the current swept the carcass past them.

Dewar fought to keep control of the Land Rover and Stephen realised, to his surprise, that they had actually crossed the mid-point of the river and were making their way, metre by sideways metre, to the opposite shore. The mercenary handled the vehicle with a skill that Stephen envied. He knew there was no way he could have kept any degree of control in the maelstrom surrounding them. He was beginning to recognise and almost anticipate the moments when they would gain traction, and even though they would often lose it again almost immediately, progress was being made and they were seemingly not wholly at the mercy of the flood waters.

The tyres bit again into the shifting cobbles of the river bed and Dewar changed gear again, seeking more traction and finding it. Stephen sucked in a shaky breath and held it. The wheels spun and they drifted another few metres then with a startling suddenness the Land Rover started climbing the gentle slope of the bank, edging its way out of the water like some sort of giant turtle.

Once they were free of the river and a safe distance away from the flood plain, Dewar brought the vehicle to a halt and, just for a moment, touched his head to the steering wheel in silent relief. Around him, Stephen heard the soldiers start to breathe again. He also realised, as he stared out of the window trying to work out how far they’d been carried down-stream, that it appeared to have stopped raining.

From the front seat, in a voice as calm as if he’d just taken a stroll across a quiet country lane, Ryan announced into his throat mike, “You can stop swearing now, Joel, we’re over.” He was silent for a moment and then gave a short bark of laughter. “Yeah, you might need a change of keks.” He turned to Dewar and demanded, “So where do we find your fucking hunting grounds?”

Dewar nodded to the left. “That way. Do we wait for the others?”

Stephen watched Ryan glance back across the water and nod. Provided nothing went wrong, Finn would have the second Land Rover across in a matter of minutes but if something went wrong, they had a slim chance of providing assistance, but a slim chance was better than nothing. He watched the vehicle carrying the others edge into the floodwaters. Under normal circumstances, the river probably spent much of its time either dry or very shallow, but in torrential conditions like the ones the area had just experienced, it would fill rapidly, spreading out and covering a much wider area.

By the time the Land Rover had reached the middle of the river, even Joel Stringer had fallen silent and all their radio earpieces transmitted was the occasional sharp intake of breath, muffled curse and the noise of the engine. For one long frozen moment, Stephen thought Finn had lost control. The Land Rover lurched violently and looked like it was about to be tipped over onto its side by the force of the water, in spite of the combined weight of seven people. Stephen could see movement inside as the passengers desperately tried to provide counterbalance. Stringer managed a quiet, ‘Fuck,’ and then they were moving again.

Finn managed to bring the vehicle out of the water five metres further upstream than Dewar had done. The young soldier was grinning widely, showing surprising evidence of having enjoyed himself, a feeling that clearly wasn’t shared by any of his companions.

“Nice driving,” Ryan said.

In a matter of moments they were moving again, the Land Rovers lurching over the detritus of the storm, branches and fallen fern fronds snapping on their wheels. The soft ground made progress slow, especially when Dewar had to take a detour through a denser patch of forest to avoid a fallen tree.

As they emerged into clearer ground, Stephen spotted something and yelled, “Stop!”

Dewar brought the vehicle to a halt and Ryan demanded, “What have you seen?”

Stephen gestured into the undergrowth. “Wheel tracks.” He glanced at Dewar. “You said Mason went off on his own with Lyle’s mother. There was no sign of any vehicle other than yours having crossed the river, so where did he go? Those tracks might be our answer.”

He opened the passenger door and jumped down, his boots squelching into the soft ground. Lyle was at his side a moment later and the slamming of doors told Stephen that the others had followed. He motioned with his arms for them to stay behind him while he bent down to check for tracks.

“Two sets,” he announced. “Whoever it was drove that way and then came back.” He pointed at the second set, about half a metre away, which separated for a distance of about four metres before they merged again into one unrecognisable mass, filled with water.

“So what’s that way?” Lyle demanded, his voice cold and dangerous.

“One of the areas where we left dead bait,” Dewar said quietly, staring down at the wheel ruts. He held Lyle’s stare for a moment then said to Ryan, “I think I know where Mason might have taken her. If you follow the track we were on more or less due north you’ll find the others. Carey knows the way. The radio in the Land Rover is tuned to the frequency they’ll be using. You might even be able to raise them now.”

“And what are you going to do?” Ryan demanded.

“Help Lyle find his mother. I know the area, Ryan. We can cover the ground almost as fast on foot. If we need a vehicle, we’ll radio you.” Dewar met Stephen’s eyes. “I don’t suppose we’ll have a problem following these tracks, will we?”

“I can follow them.” Stephen acknowledged. He turned to face his lover. “He’s right, Ryan. Three of us are enough for this. You go on with the others.”

Ryan reached out and gripped Dewar’s wrist. “If you play us false, you’re a dead man.”

“I had no part in whatever Mason’s done,” the mercenary said in a voice wholly devoid of challenge. “I’m not playing anyone false. I said I’d do my best to bring a bunch of people out of here alive. That’s what I’m being paid for – and Claire Thackeray is one of those people. If she’s still alive, I want to find her.”

“Her name is Julia Denton,” Lyle said. “I trust him, Ryan. Let’s move it.”

Stephen received a swift nod from his lover. Ryan slung the M4 carbine off his shoulder and held it out. Stephen took it and without a word, the three men set off at run, following the wheel ruts.

* * * * *

Lester watched from the window of Mason’s office as a bright red sports car came up the long driveway at speed and stopped outside the main doors in a spray of gravel. The driver’s door was flung open and an attractive woman in her late 30s got out and stalked towards the door.

“She doesn’t look happy,” Claudia remarked.

“No, she doesn’t, does she?” Lester said reflectively. He strolled to the head of the sweeping staircase in time to see Sandra Willoughby hurry out to greet the person she obviously believed to an ally. “Gillian,” he drawled, sauntering down the staircase, his hand outstretched. “So nice to see you.”

She stared up at him, her face pinched and drawn. “Where’s my husband? Is he all right?”

“I have absolutely no idea,” Lester said with perfect truth.

And for the first time since he’d known her, Lester watched tears start to track down Gillian Clement’s cheeks. In other circumstances, he might have felt sorry for her, but just then, not knowing whether his lover’s mother was alive or dead, Lester couldn’t bring himself to feel any pity for the woman. Her political career was now effectively over. Or would be when she’d had the opportunity to tender her resignation to the Prime Minister. Even Gillian Clement, well-known for being a smooth-talking high-flier wouldn’t be able to wriggle out of the fact that she had been passing classified information about the anomaly project to one of her husband’s business associates.

Tony Porter, her husband, was one of the men on Ed Mason’s ill-fated hunting trip. His car registration number had been one of the ones noted down by Stringer during his surveillance of the main gates. Lester had recognised his name on the list handed to him by Connor back in the ARC.

“I think the Home Secretary would appreciate a cup of tea,” said Claudia, taking charge of the situation, directing her request at Sandra Willoughby, before adding, “You can wait in the library, Home Secretary. Maybe you’d like to speak to George Henderson. His wife was mauled by a tyrannosaurus rex. She was dead by the time she was brought back through the anomaly. Maybe he will have some news of your husband.”

Gillian Clement’s eyes went wide with shock and before Lester could catch her, she crumpled to the floor in a dead faint.

Lester looked down at her dispassionately. “Well, at least we know where Mason has been getting his information from.”


	12. Chapter 12

Stephen went down on one knee to examine the ground. The vehicle tracks they’d been following had stopped at that point and he could make out the prints of booted feet on the ground, along with something else, almost obliterated by the heavy rain: traces of blood. He scanned the surrounding area but could see no signs of other disturbance as he cast around for evidence of what happened. He could see the tracks veering to one side and followed them to find traces of dark-green paint on the bark of a thick-trunked pine tree.

There was no indication that the vehicle had slid out of control. The wheel marks showed no sign of a skid. Stephen met Lyle’s eyes and delivered his verdict. “Someone staged an accident. There’s blood on the ground.”

“I know, I saw it,” Lyle said. “Do we go on, or search here?”

“We carry on following the tracks. The most likely scenario is that Mason stopped off on the way back from wherever he took her to make it look like they’d run into something.”

The three men set off again at a steady jog-trot. The air was hot and humid and they were all sweating freely. It was like running in a sauna. The clouds were already starting to break up, allowing the sun to shine through the canopy of dripping leaves. A Land Rover wouldn’t make much better speed over the soft ground than they were managing especially not now that Lyle was starting to pick up the pace. Glad of the long hours he spent keeping his fitness up to almost military standards, Stephen simply lengthened his stride and stayed with him, Dewar following hard on their heels.

The low drone of insects surrounded them and once they heard the sound of something large passing close to them in the undergrowth and saw the sway of branches as small trees were brushed aside. As they ran, Stephen wondered what the hell they were going to find and whether Lyle’s almost telepathic bond with his mother would have alerted the soldier to the woman’s death. Lyle’s face was set in a hard mask, giving nothing away. His emotions were firmly locked down.

The wheel ruts at their feet were easy to follow, but Stephen still stayed alert for any more variations. The undergrowth was starting to thin out around them, the enormous ferns giving way to taller pines and to their left bloomed a grove of what looked like huge cream-coloured magnolias. The ground was starting to rise slightly providing an impressive view over the sea of lush greenery that surrounded them.

Two paces ahead of him, Lyle suddenly let rip with a fluent curse reminiscent of Joel Stringer at his best, and swung the combat shotgun he was carrying up, racking the slide and firing in one smooth, well-practised movement. A squawking noise followed and Stephen saw feathered shapes scuttling away into the undergrowth. To Stephen’s surprise, Lyle had fired over the creatures’ heads. Clearly Cutter’s constant reminders that they should kill only when it was utterly unavoidable had done their work. The soldier broke into a run, the shotgun still gripped in his hands.

Stephen glanced around the small clearing. To their left, propped up against a pine tree, was the body of a woman, her head lolling on her chest, one hand resting on the ground beside her. Her feet were bare and it looked like she’d been trying to pull up her trousers but had barely managed to get them past her knees. Her other hand was still gripping the waistband.

It was obvious from the way Lyle dropped to his knees beside her and gently raised her chin that they’d found his mother.

“She’s alive,” Lyle’s voice was charged with all the emotion he’d been keeping pent up inside him for several days.

“Of course I’m alive.” Julia Denton’s voice was breathless and shaky, but held a note of something that sounded suspiciously like amusement. “Don’t hurt my babies, Jon.”

Lyle rocked back on his heels, staring down at her in amazement. “What the fuck are you talking about, mother?”

She gestured weakly with one hand. “The bird-things. I threw up and they were eating it. It’s what mothers do. Regurgitate food.”

Lyle closed his eyes in relief and pulled his mother into his arms. Stephen and Carl Dewar stood guard over the pair of them while she cried and Lyle held her close, rocking her and stroking her hair.

* * * * *

“How much do you remember?” Lyle asked, holding a flask of water to her mouth while Julia drank.

Her clothing was now decently fastened and she was wearing socks and boots again. Stephen had found them scattered around the clearing. Even without the traces of blood that Stephen had briefly glimpsed on Julia Denton’s inner thighs, it would have been obvious what had happened. He remembered Lyle’s report to the meeting in the ARC and knew that the rape had been carried out by Ben Harris, the man who had accompanied Mason when he’d isolated Julia from the main group. It didn’t take a medic to work out that she’d been drugged.

“Enough. Or maybe too much,” she said, meeting his eyes without flinching. “The rain helped keep me conscious.” She reached up with a shaky hand to brush her fingers over the stubble on Lyle’s jaw as though offering what comfort she could to him. “Help me up, Jon. I think I can walk now.”

“Mother…”

She silenced him with a look. “Don’t give me any crap, you little sod. I knew you’d come. We’ve had the hearts and flowers moment, now we need to start getting out of here while you tell me what’s been happening.”

Lyle sighed and held his hand down to her. “You couldn’t just have done things the easy way and told us what you knew?”

She ignored his question and coughed loudly. “Christ, I need a fag.”

“You’ll just have to wait.” Lyle helped her to her feet and put an arm around her waist while she took a couple of hesitant steps. “I gave up years ago.”

A soft chirruping from a few metres away drew Stephen’s attention. One of the creatures that they’d seen on arriving in the clearing was staring at them, head cocked on one side. He raised his rifle and thumbed off the safety as a precaution.

“Leave the poor little bugger alone,” Julia told him. “I think I’m going to put in for adoption. He’s quite sweet. And it’ll do Jon good not to be an only child any more.”

“You know I don’t like sharing my toys,” Lyle protested, clearly knowing when to go with the flow and let his mother do what she could to lighten the mood.

Stephen admired the woman’s composure. It was the first time he’d met Lyle’s mother but it was obvious she had the same toughness he’d witnessed often enough in her offspring. He raised his eyebrows enquiringly at Carl Dewar who had been trying to make contact with Ryan’s group.

“Either we’re out of range of the radios or there’s a portal somewhere fucking up the comms,” Dewar told him. “Do you want me to head back to the others and get some transport?”

“Safer to stay together,” Lyle said. “This isn’t a good environment to go solo in. Ryan will send a vehicle after us as soon as he can. In the meantime, we start walking. Help her up on my back.”

“I’m not being bloody carried!” Julia’s voice was loaded with indignation.

Two pairs of hazel eyes faced off against each other until Lyle finally shrugged and held out his hand again. His mother brushed her soaking wet hair back from her face and then took it. “Thanks for not saying I told you so.”

“Been there, done that, worn the fucking teeshirt,” Lyle said wryly.

“And refused to talk about it as well…”

“I’m a roughy toughy soldier, I don’t talk about my feelings.”

“And I’m a tabloid hack, sweetie, I don’t have feelings.”

Stephen could see that Julia’s eyes were becoming more focussed and she was no longer shaking, but even so, he knew their progress was going to be slow. After they’d been walking for fewer than 15 minutes, he realised that Lyle had started scratching his thumbs again. It was the one gesture everyone in the team had learned to watch for.

Stephen slipped off the safety catch on his rifle and wondered what was about to hit them, and from what direction.

* * * * *

“What happened to her?” Ryan slammed Ed Mason hard against the trunk of a tall pine tree.

“We were attacked. Something dragged her out of the vehicle!” The man’s eyes darted around the clearing looking for back-up and not finding any. He hadn’t asked where Dewar was and Ryan hadn’t volunteered the information.

Ben Harris had already been relieved of his weapons by Blade and was looking distinctly truculent. Neither Ricky Carey nor Mason’s remaining guards showed any inclination to risk their lives by interfering.

“I don’t believe you.” Ryan jerked his head at Blade who promptly shoved Harris into the trees. Ryan did the same with Mason, pushing the man none too gently ahead of him. Mason started to bluster about friends in high places so Ryan silenced him with a hard thump of a fist between his shoulder blades.

Ryan glanced behind him for a moment, checking that they weren’t being followed. The carcass of the dead tyrannosaurus dominated the scene, reminding Ryan all too forcibly of his last brush with the creatures. His men had fanned out, taking up defensive positions while Ditzy conducted a rapid triage on the wounded.

Anne Churchill had been freed from beneath the badly damaged Land Rover before they arrived. She appeared to have a broken arm, a badly gashed leg and severe concussion. Her husband – although uninjured – was in a state of shock. Charlie Marsh, the man with the broken leg, was white-faced and in obvious pain, but he’d accepted the painkillers and simply gritted his teeth, waiting his turn for medical attention. Jim Fletcher, one of the mercenaries, was unconscious and suffering serious blood loss. He’d lost half an arm to their attacker and would have died already if one of the others hadn’t got a tourniquet on it to staunch the bleeding. From the look of him, Ryan didn’t rate the man’s chances too highly.

They had four working vehicles, only two of which were capable of crossing the river unless the flood had abated considerably by the time they got back there. The other fitted with a high exhaust had been damaged beyond repair, so they’d have to make do with what they had. The dead were being loaded into the back of one of the Land Rovers. Carey and Kermit had done their best with the mutilated remains of one of Carey’s colleagues, but it hadn’t been an easy task. Both men were covered with blood and the whole clearing stank of blood and guts.

Ryan knew it was only a matter of time before something large and hungry started to take an undue interest in them. Mentally, he willed Ditzy to hurry, even though he knew that the medic – assisted by Abby – was working as quickly as he could. A light breeze was carrying the scent of death through the forest and flies were buzzing loudly all around them. Even Connor’s normal exuberance was notably absent and Cutter had shown no signs of straying beyond the perimeter that the soldiers had established. He’d met Ryan’s eyes as he and Blade had isolated Mason and Harris from the rest of the group but had made no attempt to call them back or interfere.

A sharp cry of pain disturbed the silence. One of Mason’s men was doing his best to manoeuvre the injured woman into one of the vehicles without hurting her, but it wasn’t an easy task.

Ditzy and Abby had moved onto Marsh now and were immobilising his leg prior to transfer onto a stretcher. The ride back – and across the river – was going to be a painful experience for the wounded.

Ryan transferred his attention back to the man who lay gasping at his feet. He just hoped that Lester could find some way of neutralising the political threat from Mason’s cronies because otherwise Ryan knew he could well be about to take a long walk off a very short pier. But Mason had information they needed and Ryan was in no mood to pussyfoot about.

“I don’t think Mr Mason believes we’re serious, Blade,” he said quietly. “And we don’t have time to prolong this.” He tilted Mason’s chin up using the toe of his boot. “I want to know what you’ve done with the woman called Claire Thackeray and I want to know now. Do you understand me?”

“If you value your rank, you’ll stop this before you go any further,” Mason said with forced calm.

Ryan met Blade’s eyes and gave a slight nod. The young soldier slid a pair of thin-bladed knives out of a wrist sheath and handed one, hilt first, to Ryan, keeping the other for himself.

It took precisely 90 seconds to extract the information they wanted. Ryan wiped the knife blade on Mason’s jacket and stared down at the man who had watched while Lyle’s mother had been raped and then had left her, drugged, at the mercy of whatever predators fancied a free meal. Mason was cradling one hand to his chest and rocking backwards and forwards on the damp ground, white-faced and shaking. Harris wasn’t in much better shape. Blade pulled Harris’s hands behind his back, ignoring his cries of pain, and secured them with a cable tie.

“Load them into one of the vehicles,” Ryan ordered, striding back to the clearing.

Stringer was waiting for him. “I can’t raise Lyle on the radio,” he commented.

“They were on the right trail,” Ryan told him. “The bastards drugged her, Harris had his fun and then they dumped her. Take Kermit and one of the Land Rovers and find them while we finish off here. Leave us the ones that can make the river crossing. We’ll meet you back there once we’ve got the injured out of here.” He glanced around the clearing. “I want to get out of here fast. The place smells like a fucking slaughterhouse.”

His fellow captain nodded and promptly moved off.

Ryan watched as Blade bundled Mason and Harris into the back seats of the vehicle that held the dead bodies. Apart from the constant drone of insects and the groans of the injured, an unnatural silence had fallen over the forest. For most of the time they’d been working Ryan had heard the occasional bellow from somewhere in the trees, accompanied by the sounds of large creatures moving around - mostly herbivores, if Cutter was to be believed.

“Ditz, when can we start moving?” Ryan kept his voice low but the question still earned him a sharp glance from Tony Porter. From what Ryan had seen of the man, he was no fool. He’d helped Ryan’s men keep watch and he looked like he knew how to handle himself.

The medic finished making the injured woman as comfortable as he could and straightened up. He met Ryan’s eyes and nodded. At a gesture from Ryan, Finn slid into the driver’s seat of the car containing the wounded, with Ditzy to ride shotgun and keep an eye on his charges.

“Go with them, please, sir,” Ryan said to Porter. “And keep your rifle handy.”

“I wouldn’t do anything else around here,” the man commented dryly. “You’re expecting trouble, aren’t you?”

Ryan nodded, not bothering to dress anything up. He wanted to ensure Porter stayed alert and there was no point in trying to sugar-coat their situation. The crack of a branch in the trees drew their attention. A large shape was prowling towards them, head lowered, sniffing the air. Time had just run out for them.

“Professor, Connor!” Ryan spoke sharply and neither man needed telling twice. Finn was already pulling out of the clearing, driving as smoothly as he could, but even so, the lurching movement of the Land Rover must have been a torment for its injured passengers. “Cutter, take the wheel!”

The professor was a good driver and Ryan knew he could rely on him. The soldier wanted to keep his hands free to use his weapons. Abby had armed herself with a hunting rifle that looked absurdly large for her slight frame and was kneeling on one of the back seats, the barrel of the rifle pointing out of the rear window as Ryan sprinted to join her.

The final vehicle in the convoy was driven by Ricky Carey, with Blade at his side. Ryan had heard Ben Harris pleading for his hands to be released and Blade’s laconic refusal. The Land Rover lurched forward, avoiding the gaping jaws of the dead tyrannosaurus. Ryan hoped that the huge carcass would prove enough of a draw for any predators in the vicinity to buy them some time to get clear of the area, but he wouldn’t have wanted to place any bets on their chances.

A loud roar shattered the silence and a massive creature burst from the trees at speed, closely followed by another. Ryan didn’t need Connor’s excited yell in his ear to tell him what they were. He’d last faced these beasts in the Forest of Dean in the dark, in a desperate fight for survival that had cost the life of one of his men. He didn’t relish the idea of a rematch, but as the lead predator scented the air and registered the movement of the vehicles, Ryan just hoped that their retreat wouldn’t become a rout. It looked like their pursuers were more interested in moving prey than carrion.


	13. Chapter 13

“We’re being stalked, aren’t we?” Julia Denton remarked calmly.

The drug she’d been given was clearly wearing off and, although she was sweating heavily and still looked too pale, Stephen had been impressed by how well they’d managed to make progress back along the trail they’d been following. Julia still needed a supporting arm from Lyle and she had stumbled a few times, but she had flatly refused to be carried.

Stephen glanced at Carl Dewar. The mercenary stared into the trees then nodded, confirming exactly what Stephen had been thinking. He’d caught the occasional flash of movement, sometimes behind them, sometimes to one side but never clear enough to know what it was they might be facing.

“You two need to work on your bedside manner,” Julia said. She shook her son’s hand off. “I’m all right, Jon, I can walk by myself. You’re going to need both hands free to put up a gallant defence of your beloved parent. I knew all those years of gentle nurturing were going to pay off in the end.”

“You always said you wished you’d drowned me at birth,” Lyle remarked. The soldier racked the slide on his shotgun, his action wholly at odds with the conversational tone of his voice.

The attack came wholly without warning. A grey shape dashed out of the trees at a run, head lowered and jaws agape, displaying a double row of serrated teeth easily capable of ripping a man in half. All Stephen had time to register before flinging himself sideways and dragging Julia Denton with him was that it was some sort of allosaurid theropod. Lyle dropped to one knee, shotgun raised, and fired two rounds in quick succession, carving bloody furrows across the theropod’s throat. A second, louder report came from Carl Dewar’s hunting rifle. A heavy calibre round took the creature in the head and it staggered but didn’t fall.

They were clearly going to have to make every shot count.

“We are under attack!” Lyle barked into his radio microphone. “Urgent assistance needed.”

Over his own earpiece, Stephen heard a crackle of static greet the lieutenant’s words words, followed by the sound of what might have been Stringer’s voice, but Stephen failed to pick out the reply over the bellow of pain and rage that followed another round from Lyle’s combat shotgun.

Looking pale but determined, Julia Denton grabbed a broken branch and swung it at the open mouth. Wood splintered and the theropod’s teeth closed around the branch, snapping it like a match, but the distraction allowed Stephen to swing his own rifle up and send a three-round burst into their attacker’s head.

A second bellow came out of the trees behind them and a slightly smaller shape, but still with the distinctive grey and brown mottled hide, hurtled towards them. Dewar flung himself sideways and fired, hitting the damp ground and rolling away. Lyle pushed his mother unceremoniously into the trees and then stood his ground pumping shell after shell into their attackers. Over the noise of both creatures bellowing, Stephen heard the welcome sound of a vehicle being driven towards them at speed a moment before the sound of a horn blared loudly.

The Land Rover slewed violently on the wet ground but Kermit, at the wheel, held his course, catching the injured predator a heavy blow with the front wing, adding to the damage the vehicle had already sustained. The young soldier threw the Land Rover into a ragged hand-brake turn, swinging it around and only barely retaining control as it rocked violently, taking a heavy blow from a swinging tail.

Another burst of automatic fire shredded the larger of the two theropods. Without waiting to see how successful his bullets were being in bringing the creatures down, Stephen sprinted to the trees, hauled Lyle’s mother to her feet and propelled her towards the Land Rover. She stumbled and almost fell, then scrambled inside. He pushed her down behind the front seats and jumped in as well, as Lyle and Dewar piled in behind them.

Kermit floored the accelerator pedal as much as possible on the damp earth and the vehicle lurched away, wheels skidding and finally gaining some much-needed traction. Something slammed hard into the back and the Land Rover was jolted forward, but Kermit kept control and they continued to gain speed. Carl Dewar leaned out of the window and fired a shot at one of their pursuers, the rifle shot deafeningly loud even over the engine noise. Stephen glanced behind and saw the bloodied allosaurids still in pursuit. They had the advantage of being able to cover the ground with alarming speed but both beasts were injured and one was starting to fall back.

“Looks like we’re losing them,” Stringer said calmly. “We’re meeting the others at the river.” He glanced at Lyle. “Any injuries?”

“Nothing life-threatening,” Lyle replied, his voice equally composed. “My mother is threatening to adopt a dinosaur and yet again I’m starring in a bad rip-off of Jurassic Park but apart from that things are peachy.”

Down by Stephen’s feet, Julia Denton struggled to sit upright as the Land Rover bounced along. She steadied herself against the back of the seat and turned around to stare at their pursuers, an almost wistful look on her face. “Did Madge grass on me, Jon?” she asked, eventually tearing her eyes away from what was happening behind them.

“No, she bloody well didn’t,” said Lyle. “But it wasn’t for want of trying on my part. You are a wholly irresponsible parent and I’m going to apply to have myself made a ward of court.”

“Aw, diddums,” Julia said, managing a half-smile, but Stephen could see the effort it was costing her to maintain the façade.

Before Lyle had chance to reply, something slammed hard into the side of the Land Rover and two wheels left the ground as Kermit wrenched on the wheel and tried to keep them moving forward. Glass broke and a pair of jaws was thrust inside. Julia Denton shrank back against Stephen, but didn’t scream.

“Duck,” Lyle instructed, bringing his shotgun to bear at the same time as Carl Dewar stuck the barrel of his rifle between the creature’s teeth and pulled the trigger.

The head jerked back, the Land Rover bounced on its chassis, and continued to move. It looked very much like something else had joined the hunt.

* * * * *

“They might just be chasing us because we’re a moving target,” Connor said, clutching his laptop to his chest and trying to stop himself being thrown around the interior of the Land Rover.

“Even I don’t feel like studying the hunting habits of tyrannosaurs in these circumstances, lad.” Cutter was tailgating Finn’s vehicle as closely as he dared, his forehead creased in concentration.

Ryan let the words wash over him as he concentrated on what was happening behind them. At his side, Abby still cradled the big hunting rifle and he knew that she wouldn’t hesitate to use it. He had plenty of respect for both her skills with a gun and her nerve, and no matter what the anomalies threw at them he knew she would do whatever was needed, even if her principles occasionally suffered in the process.

She gave him a quick, gamine grin. “Bet you wish you had a rocket launcher now.”

“The thought had crossed my mind,” he admitted. Ryan had an M203 grenade launcher on the carbine he’d borrowed from Finn, loaded with High-Explosive Dual Purpose rounds capable of inflicting considerable damage, but he was still working on standard operating procedures that kept that amount of destructive firepower until they really had no other option. He also wanted to wait until he had a clear shot.

“Do what you have to, Ryan,” Cutter said, clearly aware of their exchange. “We can’t afford to pussyfoot around.”

A slow smile spread across Ryan’s face. He took no pleasure in killing creatures that only wanted to fill their bellies, even if he was on their intended snack menu, but there had been plenty of meat on the ground back in the clearing that they had ignored. From what he’d seen of the giant predators he had a suspicion they enjoyed the chase as much as anything else and the presence of the group could well have infringed some territorial instincts. Either way, the lead tyrannosaur was now getting dangerously close to the third Land Rover driven by Ricky Carey.

Ryan stared around him doing his best to gauge how close they were to the river. As far as he could tell, they hadn’t yet passed the spot where Lyle had left them to go in search of his mother, nor had they had any word yet from Stringer or Lyle. There had been a regular static crackle from their radios to indicate attempts at communication, but beyond a few half-caught words he was none the wiser as to what his second-in-command and his fellow captain were up to.

His thoughts were answer a few moments later when a battered Land Rover, driven at speed by Kermit, swung out onto the rough trail, narrowly avoiding a collision with the lead vehicle. Behind it was some sort of bloody great big carnivore looking like a slightly scaled-down version of the T. rex. Ryan entertained a brief hope that the creatures might decide to make their own entertainment but a bellow from the tyrannosaur caused the other animal to swerve away, back into the forest.

The radio transmission suddenly cleared and Ryan heard Kermit’s voice say, “Sorry, mate, thought it was my right of way.”

A volley of shots from Blade’s vehicle signalled that one of their pursuers had got too close for comfort. Ryan considered using one of the HEDP rounds, but decided the risk was too great with the dinosaur in such close proximity to the Land Rover. He was just going to have to trust Carey’s driving skills.

“We’re about 500 metres from the river, boss.” Finn’s voice came over his earpiece. “Do you want me to go straight in?”

“If it looks no worse, go for it,” Ryan instructed. “And once you’re on the other side, keep going. Get those people out of here as fast as you can.” He switched his attention to the other vehicle that had just joined them. “Jon, any luck?”

“Yeah, she’s with us.”

Ryan’s relief was short-lived. The lead predator very nearly succeeded in overturning Carey’s vehicle. How the mercenary managed to keep control, Ryan would never know. Thoughts continued to race through Ryan’s mind. They were going to need to transfer Lyle’s mother to Finn’s Land Rover before the attempt on the river crossing.

“Finn, I need you to take on another passenger. Stop on this side for the transfer. Hart, I want Lyle’s mother in with Finn. Get her out of the vehicle. Finn, when they’re on board, get the hell out of here. Carey, Blade, go left. We’ll go right. We need to split these sods up if we can. Acknowledge!”

“Will do,” Stephen responded.

“On it, boss,” Blade replied.

“Professor, can you tackle the river?” Ryan demanded.

“Yes, but not if it means leaving you and your men behind.”

“I want you three out of the range of this lot, Professor. We’ll keep the vermin at bay. There’s enough of us to take them down.” Ryan spoke with more confidence that he actually felt, but he was damned if he was letting his civilian charges stay on this side of the river pursued by something that didn’t know when to stay extinct.

“What about Mason?” Cutter asked.

Before Ryan had chance to answer, the largest of the two tyrannosaurs finally succeeded in flipping the Land Rover being driven by Ricky Carey up into the air like a cat playing with a mouse. The vehicle landed on its bonnet, bounced and was then picked up and tossed to one side, where it hit a tree and landed on its roof. The huge head reached down, nosing at the wreckage, no doubt smelling the blood and guts from the dead bodies being carried in the back.

The second beast carried on past the wreckage, head down, powerful hind legs carrying it forwards at almost the speed of the Land Rovers. Ahead of them, Kermit spun his vehicle to the right, the wheels skidding on the sparse vegetation of the flood plain. The Land Rover slowed slightly and the rear swung open, disgorging Stephen, his arms wrapped around Lyle’s mother. They hit the ground and rolled, Stephen protecting the woman with his body and a moment later he was on his feet, hauling Julia up with him. Finn brought the other Land Rover alongside them and Ditzy’s hands reached out to haul her in. The door had barely closed behind them as the vehicle’s front wheels hit the brown floodwaters of the river. For one awful moment as the waters rose up almost over the bonnet, Ryan thought they’d miscalculated and that the river was actually deeper than before, but then the Land Rover started to make headway.

“You’re going to need us on this side, Ryan,” Cutter declared. “There’ll be more injured to evacuate and this is the only other vehicle we’ve got that can make the crossing.”

Cutter was right and Ryan knew it. “Let me out, Professor, and try to keep out of trouble until I need you, all right?”

The ghost of a grin crossed Cutter’s face. “Don’t I always?”

After a rapid check in his mirrors, Cutter brought the Land Rover to an abrupt halt. Ryan cradled his rifle tightly against his chest and sprinted away from the vehicle. He could see Stephen running towards him, limping slightly, possibly from damage sustained in the hasty exit from the other Land Rover. Ryan toyed with the idea of trying to persuade his lover to stay with Cutter and the two younger members of the team, but he knew he’d be wasting his breath. Another figure was hard on Stephen’s heels, a hunting rifle gripped in both hands. Someone else had decided to remain behind as well. Ryan recognised Tony Porter, one of the members of Mason’s hunting party.

“You shouldn’t be here, sir!” Ryan chambered a round on his grenade launcher and wondered how the hell he was going to get the T. rex far enough away from the wrecked vehicle to enable him to open fire on it safely.

“You need all the help you can get, captain,” Porter said calmly. “And I’m not missing the opportunity to bring one of these buggers down.”

It didn’t seem like a good time to have a debate about the matter. The Land Rover driven by Kermit had failed to attract pursuit from either of the beasts. They were now both nosing at the wreckage and Ryan was getting the distinct impression that they were about to start pulling it apart like two dogs fighting for possession of a juicy bone.

“We need to attract their attention,” Stephen declared and before Ryan had time to object, his lover started to run in the direction of the two enormous dinosaurs, yelling loudly.

As distraction techniques went, Ryan would have preferred something a little less life-threatening, but he had to admit it was certainly effective.

The smaller of the two creatures swung its head around, clearly aware of the movement but undecided whether to leave the smell of blood and death in favour of alternative prey. A second yell from Stephen and more arm-waving appeared to be the deciding factor. The T. rex broke into a lumbering run. The horn of a Land Rover started to blare loudly, adding to the distraction and moments later, Kermit pulled up alongside Ryan. Stringer, Lyle and Dewar jumped out of the vehicle and fanned out, ready to provide covering fire. At his side, Porter went down on one knee, steadied his hunting rifle and prepared to fire.

Stephen abruptly swerved sideways into the trees. The T. rex lacked the manoeuvrability to change direction as easily, its momentum carrying it beyond the clump of large ferns that were now providing cover for Stephen.

“Now!” Ryan ordered.

The volley of gunfire was almost deafening, from the deep boom of the grenade launcher to the sharper, more staccato chatter of the M4s and the deep blast of Lyle’s shotgun. The resulting damage inflicted on the creature was horrific, but to Ryan’s amazement, it still remained on its feet. Tony Porter quickly and calmly loaded another bullet into his bolt-action rifle and fired again, triggering another round of shots from the others as Ryan pumped a second grenade into the M203 attachment and waited for a moment to see what effect the more conventional weaponry was having.

The T. rex finally swayed and started to crumple to the ground. Ryan didn’t wait to see any more. Once down, there was no possibility of the dinosaur regaining its feet, not in the state it was in, but they still had another one to contend with, and he could hear answering bellows coming from the forest around him that made it sound like other predators were considering joining the party. Ryan knew they needed to start ferrying people across the river before they were over-run, but they also had to get the injured out of the wrecked vehicle – if anyone had survived.

The sheer amount of activity beside the swollen river seemed to have succeeded in attracting the attention of the remaining tyrannosaurus. It took a slow step away from the wrecked Land Rover, head waving from side to side. Ryan saw one of the doors swing open and someone dropped to the ground. His hopes of seeing the black of Blade’s uniform were dashed when he realised that the person who’d managed to free himself first was Ben Harris, the man who had attacked Lyle’s mother. Blade had obviously decided to cut the cable ties binding the man’s hands when their pursuer had got dangerously close, but that humanitarian gesture had apparently done nothing to earn him any favours. Harris took a brief look around at the scene, reached into the wreckage and extracted a rifle before making a quick dash for cover amongst the overhanging foliage.

“Little shit,” Stringer commented. “My turn to play bait, I think. Let’s see if we can attract that big sod’s attention, shall we?”

Ryan’s fellow captain gave him a swift grin then took up where Stephen had left off in another lethal game of cat and mouse. Stringer grabbed a rock the size of a cannonball and lobbed it at the tyrannosaur. Whether the huge beast even felt the blow was probably open to some doubt but, for whatever reason, the huge head swung in Stringer’s direction. Beside them, Kermit slammed the Land Rover into gear and pulled away, intending to provide the prospect of another chew-toy to play with.

“Lyle, take this and give me your shotgun!” Ryan said, holding out his rifle. “Cover me. I need to see who’s alive in there. Make sure that fucker doesn’t come back in my direction.” With Harris on the run and armed, Ryan wasn’t risking any confrontations between him and Lyle, not when they still had a job to do.

Lyle swapped weapons without question, accepting Ryan’s three remaining high explosive rounds and, heedless of the mounting chaos, Ryan made a dash for the overturned Land Rover, narrowly avoiding being knocked off his feet by a blow from the tyrannosaur’s tail as it finally decided to chase moving prey. The stench from inside the Land Rover was nauseating and all Ryan could see was a tangle of bloodied limbs.

He could make out Blade’s black uniform in the midst of the wreckage. The young soldier was jammed up against one of the doors, unmoving. Ryan heard a groan, but it wasn’t coming from Blade’s too-still form. Someone was alive. The only question was who. A sudden chittering noise made Ryan swing around. He was being stared at by several sets of unblinking eyes from a few metres away inside the forest. Where big predators hunted, carrion-eaters were never far behind, looking for easy pickings.

Two shells from his borrowed shotgun scattered them before Ryan even had chance to work out what they were – apart from feathered and almost certainly unfriendly – leaving him to his task of disentangling the living from the dead. He heard the sound of booted feet thudding into the soft ground and a moment later, Carl Dewar joined him. Together they started to haul Ricky Carey free. The mercenary was bleeding profusely from a head wound, almost certainly caused by an impact with the now-broken windscreen and at the very least would probably have several broken ribs, but the danger of a punctured lung paled into insignificance beside the other threats they were facing.

Carey sprawled amidst a mess of broken glass and was clearly struggling to breathe but Ryan knew battlefield first aid would have to wait. They had other priorities. Ryan crawled back into the Land Rover and tried to tug at Blade’s jacket. The soldier’s head lolled to one side, blood trickling from his mouth. Ryan took a deep breath, almost gagging on the stench of blood, and hauled. Blade’s body shifted slightly. It was enough for Ryan and he pulled again. Another pair of hands reached in to help him and with Dewar’s help, Ryan was able to drag Blade free of the wreckage.

The sound of gunfire broke out again, and the deeper boom that followed hard on its heels told Ryan that his second-in-command had fired another 40 mm grenade. The sound of a vehicle being driven towards them at speed drew Ryan’s attention. Cutter pulled his Land Rover up next to them and Abby jumped out. In Ditzy’s absence, the girl was their best field medic and Ryan knew they had to get both Carey and Blade out of there as fast as possible. With a nod to Dewar, they picked up Blade and transferred him as gently as they could onto the rear seats. Ryan thought he detected a pulse but he didn’t have the time to be sure. Carey was bundled into the back as well. Heedless of the horror inside the mangled wreckage, Abby had insinuated herself inside, her slight form enabling her to do what Ryan had failed to do and get into a position where she could check on Ed Mason.

A few moments later she backed out, blood streaking her pale cheeks and both hands. She met Ryan’s eyes and shook her head. “His neck’s broken and he’s stuck fast.” She looked around, a frown creasing her face. “Where’s the other one?”

“Grabbed a gun and legged it into the forest. We’re not waiting around for him.”

A quick glance told him that the last volley of shots had done enough to slow the last tyrannosaur down. It started to topple forwards, small arms twitching ineffectually as it fell. Ultimately, the world’s fiercest predator had become the prey, but it had taken an arsenal of modern weaponry to bring it down and Ryan knew that even his men would be starting to run low on ammunition now.

It was time to stage an exit before the bellowing he could hear from the forest came any closer.

“Get them across that river and out of here, Professor.” Ryan’s eyes raked over the now-subsiding floodwater. It was almost at the stage now that the Land Rover Kermit was driving could make an attempt at the crossing.

Whether they liked it or not, Ryan wanted Stephen and Tony Porter on the other side of the river. With his hunting rifle Porter had the range to provide covering fire for them from there, and even with the M4, Stephen was still capable of greater accuracy than most people. It would leave Ryan, Dewar, Stringer and Lyle to bring up the rear in the final vehicle just as soon as the waters had subsided long enough to allow them passage but that was a better option that over-loading Cutter’s Land Rover and putting them all at even bigger risk.

All they would have to do was survive on this side of the river for maybe another ten to 15 minutes at most. The roar from close at hand that followed that thought wasn’t exactly the most comforting sound Ryan had ever heard but it wasn’t enough to make him change his mind.

He just hoped he’d made the right call.


	14. Chapter 14

Cutter’s Land Rover had reached the mid-point of the swollen river. The professor was a skilled driver but even so there had been at least two occasions when Ryan had thought he was about to lose control. The first time was when he’d hit a deep rut in the river bed and forward progress had stalled abruptly. The second time, a dead tree carried down by the torrent had slammed into the side of the vehicle and slewed the Land Rover around so that it was broadside on to the weight of water bearing down on it. Ryan had watched Cutter fight for and finally regain control of the vehicle before finally exhaling a long sigh of relief.

The noises from the forest told Ryan that various predators and scavengers were massing, drawn by the scent of blood and death. They’d seen a few creatures poking their noses out from the cover of the trees and ferns, and a few of the smaller, bolder ones had already darted out and started to feed. In Ryan’s opinion it was only a matter of time before something else large and nasty turned up, but for the moment, the four men stayed crouched beside the Land Rover, weapons ready, waiting for the flood to subside enough for them to tackle the crossing. Kermit, still in the driver’s seat, was staring intently at the river.

If matters went according to Ryan’s plan, Cutter would get the wounded back through the anomaly cluster as fast as possible, leaving Stephen and Porter to provide additional covering fire from across the river. If things got sticky on their side, they could take the Range Rover Discovery they’d left there earlier. Ryan had been tracking how fast the flood was receding by placing stones at the water’s edge. The fall in the level was noticeable, even without the evidence of the markers, and the sun now shone brightly in a cerulean sky, carrying no further threat of rain. Water still dripped from the fern fronds growing in clumps at the river’s edge and the drone of insects surrounded them.

Ryan’s black uniform clung to him in the humid heat and he felt trails of sweat making their way down his back. He dashed more sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand and continued to watch Cutter’s progress across the river. The Land Rover had been carried at least 20 metres down river, but in itself that would present no problem. The flood pain was wide and shallow and for much of the time the riverbed would be dry, the way it had been when Mason’s group had first crossed it. There was no bank to climb, so all Cutter had to do was choose a spot without too much vegetation and make his exit at that point.

Cutter was two-thirds of the way across now, the Land Rover still lurching and bumping its way forwards. The murky brown water was now only at the height of the wheel arches, rather than lapping over the bonnet, which was no doubt a distinct improvement for the driver and passengers. Just for a moment forward movement came to an abrupt halt and Ryan’s indrawn breath hitched in his throat, then the Land Rover broke free of whatever was impeding its progress – possibly some underwater debris – and surged forward again.

As the vehicle drove clear of the water, Ryan was conscious of a collective sigh of relief being heaved around him. He switched his attention back to the edge of the forest. The carcasses of the two huge tyrannosauruses had now attracted numerous scavengers but there was enough meat to go around. At least for anything with a normal appetite…

Ryan noticed the tree tops swaying slightly, but there was no breeze. The air was thick with the aftermath of the storm, undisturbed by even the slightest breath of wind. He licked his finger and held it up for confirmation. At his side, Carl Dewar shifted position and raised his rifle.

“Kermit, keep your eye on the water level,” Ryan instructed. “As soon as you think we have a halfway decent chance, we go for it.”

An enormous head broke out of the cover of the trees. At his side, Dewar muttered, “Fucking hell.”

At a rough estimate, Ryan reckoned the beast stalking in magisterial fashion out of the trees was at least three metres taller than either of the ones they’d already brought down. Its colouring was darker, more brown than grey-green and Ryan wondered whether that was a change that came with age. No doubt Connor would have some observations on the subject if they all lived to discuss the matter.

“Any advice?” Ryan asked the mercenary, conscious both of Dewar’s experience with big game hunting and his greater experience in this particular environment.

“It’s probably a cliché, but stay still is the best I can think of,” Dewar replied. “There’s plenty to keep it occupied provided we don’t attract its attention.”

“It might like tinned food,” Lyle said, pumping a grenade into the underslung M203 attachment on the rifle Ryan had traded with him earlier.

“Shame on it when there’s plenty of nice fresh stuff available. It ought to be setting a better example to the kiddies,” Stringer commented.

“We shot the kiddies,” said Lyle.

“And Daddy doesn’t look happy about it.” As Stringer spoke, the gigantic predator took two long strides to the nearest carcass and buried its muzzle in the mess of guts spilling out onto the damp ground.

“You were saying…?” Lyle said with a grin. “Doesn’t look very paternal to me. I hope someone’s taking notes, Connor’s going to want a full report.”

“Should have brought a camera...”

The tyrannosaurus lifted its dripping jaws from the dead body at its feet and roared. The smaller scavengers grouped around the other carcass promptly scattered into the forest. Ryan was suddenly conscious of the fact that he was holding his breath and his pulse was racing as adrenaline flooded his system, triggering his flight or fight reaction. In the face of the largest predator ever to walk the face of the earth staying still was very probably the hardest thing he’d ever had to do in his life. His stomach churned with fear and for the first time in a very long time in a combat situation, he felt a desperate urge to empty his bladder.

“Am I the only one who really, really wants a piss?” Lyle said quietly.

“I’m just fucking glad I had a crap before we left,” said Stringer before Ryan had the chance to reply.

The sound of the other Land Rover’s engine could still be heard over the noise of the rushing water behind them and Ryan watched as the tyrannosaur’s head started to wave from side to side. Ryan couldn’t work out which sense was its dominant one: hearing, smell or sight and he had a feeling it was working on a combination of all three.

“Cutter’s stopped,” Kermit reported. “Jesus, he’s turned the fucking engine off.”

“He’s trying not to attract its attention,” said Dewar. “It’s started to take an interest in the movement and your guy knows the river isn’t going to stop it. It would barely come up to that fucker’s knees.”

Moving very slowly and very carefully, Ryan took two steps backwards to bring himself level with the open passenger side window. “Kermit, give me the radio.” He thumbed the transmit button and hoped he wasn’t going to be greeted with nothing more than a static crackle. “Cutter, you have wounded on board. Get the fuck out of here.”

“It was watching us move,” Cutter replied. “We can’t risk leading it through the anomaly. If that creature gets into another time period it could do incalculable damage.”

Ryan closed his eyes for a moment, knowing from previous experience that Cutter was impossible to argue with on some subjects. “Cutter, we’ll do our best to slow it down. We have two grenades left. Get the hell out of here and take Hart and Porter with you. This supersedes previous instructions. Acknowledge, please.”

“Nice try, but no dice,” Lyle predicted. “He’s a stubborn bastard.”

“I can’t do that, Ryan,” Cutter replied, living up to Lyle’s expectations. “If we stay still then there’s a very good chance it’ll leave us all alone. The area near you is knee-deep in meat. If we don’t provide a moving target then we’ll be all right. Once it starts feeding properly we’ll be able to make a run for it.”

“He’s right,” said Dewar. “And the smell from the other two will go a long way towards masking our scent, plus we’re down wind of it.”

The mercenary had a hunter’s instincts and he was right, although it wasn’t something that Ryan had noticed until then. A light breeze had blown up and was carrying a dry, almost musky scent towards them that reminded him of the smell of Abby’s pet snakes. He concentrated on keeping his breathing as slow and even as possible in the hope of bringing his heart rate down but he wasn’t expecting much in the way of success. He was just pleased that he hadn’t already needed a change of underwear, although it had been touch and go for a few moments.

He was strongly tempted to tell Lyle to use the last two grenades in the hope of bringing an end to the situation but that would leave them with almost nothing in reserve and if their experiences in the Forest of Dean were anything to go by, these creatures could sometimes be found in surprisingly large numbers.

The T. rex lifted its head again and let out another bellow, spraying blood and mucus around in a wide arc. From some distance away, an answering bellow almost brought and end to what was left of Ryan’s composure.

“That came from the other side of the river,” Dewar commented.

“Cutter, you’re about to get company,” Ryan said into the radio.

“Aye, you might be right… Ah, bugger it, you are right…”

For once, Cutter’s rolling rs raised no amusement at all. Ryan spared a quick look over his shoulder and was not comforted by the site of another tyrannosaurus, no less large than the one on their side, stalking along next to the river. It lowered its head to the water and drunk copiously, then tilted its head to one side in a now-familiar gesture.

“This could be a good thing,” Carl Dewar said. “They might be more interested in ripping shit out of each other instead of bothering with small fry like us. Now if we can only get ‘em together...”

It was notable that no one told the mercenary he’d been watching too many films. Dewar had the same calm confidence in the face of animals – even the ones that they were facing – that Abby so often displayed in the field and all the soldiers attached to the anomaly project had long since learnt to respect her opinions. Dewar’s experience might have been gained in different ways, but it was no less valid.

With water still dripping from its snout, the T. rex continued to prowl along beside the river. The black Range Rover Discovery was between it and Cutter’s vehicle. The creature stopped, sniffed at it, and carried on walking, each stride bringing it closer to Cutter and the others.

The beast on their side of the river lowered its head to the bleeding carcass at its feet and ripped a large chunk of flesh out of the distended belly, chewing on it slowly as blood dripped from the fresh meat. Between mouthfuls it paused to throw its head back and emit loud, gurgling roars that sent further spikes of adrenaline through Ryan’s system.

“Staking its claim to the kill?” Stringer said, addressing the question to Dewar.

“Looks like it,” the mercenary agreed.

On the opposite bank, the other tyrannosaur stopped in its tracks and turned to face its rival. Its tail was lashing from side to side like that of an angry cat and one such swing connected hard with the Discovery, flipping it over onto its side in the river as if it had weighed no more than a child’s toy car. If the T. rex got close enough to the other vehicle to inflict similar damage, Cutter’s plan of simply staying still and not attracting its attention could prove to have a very large flaw.

The tyrannosaurus on their side of the river dropped its head to the bloody and now partially dismembered body of one of its own kind and started to feed again. Over the gut-clenching noises it was making, Lyle suddenly remarked, “My thumbs are itching.”

Ryan turned to his friend, knowing perfectly well that a look of incredulity had almost certainly settled on his face. “Jon, I’m not sure how it’s escaped your fucking notice, but we are stuck in between two fucking T. rexes with a flooded river thrown in for good measure. Of course your fucking thumbs are itching.”

By way of an answer, Lyle’s hand snaked out and gave Ryan a hard shove, a second before the crack of a rifle bullet made it clear that someone had very nearly blown Ryan’s head off. Another shot followed a fraction of a second later and Lyle swore loudly.

“Creased my fucking leg,” the lieutenant reported as the four men rapidly made use of whatever cover the Land Rover could provide. Another bullet carved a deep furrow along one side of the vehicle.

“It’s Harris and he wants to steal a ride,” Dewar said, slamming home the bolt action on his rifle and looking for a target for return fire.

“He could have tried asking nicely,” said Ryan, loosing a three-round burst into the trees in the hoping of making their attacker keep his head down.

“Maybe he thinks some of us might be a tad annoyed with him,” Lyle commented, hissing with pain as he shifted his weight onto his uninjured leg.

To Ryan’s surprise, the tyrannosaur was more intent on its meal than it was on either the noise of the gunshots or their movement. Inside the Land Rover, Kermit had crouched down and was replying to Cutter’s demand to know what the hell was happening.

A bullet kicked up a spray of dirt only a few inches away from Ryan’s position. If he’d been in Harris’s shoes, Ryan would have started firing underneath the Land Rover, aiming for their crouched bodies. The vehicle itself would provide very little protection, but if Dewar was right, Ben Harris wouldn’t risk damaging his ride out of there.

“Chuck your guns down and walk away from the vehicle!”

The sound of Harris’s voice provided a target and Stringer delivered their answer in the form of a single shot.

“That’s a ‘no’,” Ryan yelled. He cast a glance at the water. It was definitely lower that it had been when they’d arrived and if Kermit kept gunning the engine, they had a good chance of making the crossing even with the exhaust under water. He lowered his voice and asked, “Dewar, what are the chances of that big sod over there ignoring us if we try to fuck off across the river?”

Carl Dewar shrugged. “I’ve got no fucking idea but we’ll be heading straight into its territory.”

“So what happens if this one follows us?”

Dewar stared at the churning waters. “We can’t make it across there faster than it can.”

“We can if it thinks twice about going into the other one’s territory.”

“And if it doesn’t follow us at all?”

“Then we have one less T. rex to deal with and a grenade left for the one over there. And if it does follow us then they can keep each other occupied.”

A burst of automatic fire from the trees came all too close for comfort. Stringer reacted quickly as Dewar said, “What about Harris?”

“He’s made his bed, now he can fucking lie on it,” Ryan declared. Renegade mercenaries with a penchant for rape were not high on his list of concerns, particularly as the man appeared to have no compunction about opening fire on his former boss. “You got a problem with that?”

“He just tried to kill me. I’m fresh out of sympathy.”

Ryan grinned. “Good. Jon, wait until Harris has another go at us then I want one of those grenades lobbed into the trees, as close to him as you can get. If it takes him out, good, if it doesn’t, it’ll still buy us time. Save the last one for a deserving cause.”

Lyle’s answering grin was wolfish. “Flush out his position and then cover me.”

Stringer reached around to the side of the vehicle and pulled the front passenger door open. It immediately acquired a hole to add to all the other things that would cause it to fail its next MOT.

Ryan sent three shots into the undergrowth as Lyle straightened up, taking his weight on the bonnet, and pulled the trigger on the grenade launcher. The high explosive round hit a large, fat-bodied tree fern and the force of the explosion sent lumps of wood and other debris raining down in a wide arc. Without waiting to see the full effect of the blast, the four men heaved open the doors of the Land Rover as Kermit started the engine and immediately edged the vehicle into the river.

The blast certainly succeeded in attracting the attention of the tyrannosaurus as chunks of wood flew in a wide arc, peppering its thick hide and no doubt doing some damage. Not enough to maim, but certainly serious enough to put the beast in a bad temper. It roared again but showed no sign of wanting to leave the scene, unlike the rest of the smaller creatures who were already scuttling away like cockroaches in a darkened room running away from a bright light.

On the far side of the river, the other T. rex was still stalking slowly along beside the fast-flowing water, staring across at its rival and roaring in a way that was undoubtedly a challenge. Ryan had absolutely no idea what size of territory the beasts ruled, or even if the river was a real boundary, but he was pretty certain they were going to get an answer to that question in the very near future. In the meantime, Cutter and the others had remained inside their vehicle, doing absolutely nothing to attract its attention, although Ryan could see rifle barrels poking out of the windows in the hands of both Stephen and Porter.

Kermit kept up the revs on the engine as the force of water started to break around the Land Rover. Ryan felt the wheels struggling to find their grip but he knew what the vehicle was capable of and the water level was starting to drop, so as long as Kermit kept the engine from stalling, their chances of making it across were good. What was waiting for them on the other side was rather less than good.

Ryan grabbed the microphone for the radio and said urgently, “Cutter, either our mate on this side is going to come over for a re-run of King Kong v. Godzilla or your friend is going to start taking an interest in us. Either way, when I say go, you go. Got that? We’ll make sure you’re not followed.”

“I’m not risking that thing following us through the anomaly…”

“And it won’t!” Ryan snapped. “Do as you’re fucking told, Professor. This is non-negotiable.” Ryan was using a tone he’d honed to the same edge as Blade had on his knives and if Cutter didn’t do as he was told, Ryan was going to fucking deck the man when he finally caught up with him, tyrannosaurus or no tyrannosaurus.

“Aye, I hear you,” Cutter acknowledged. “Connor reckons both beasties are spoiling for a fight.”

“So does Dewar,” Ryan confirmed. He glanced over his shoulder. The tyrannosaurus had become aware of their movement and had covered the distance to the water’s edge in three long strides. It was now no more than 50 metres away from them, but its attention appeared to be focussed on its rival as Dewar had predicted.

After a brief moment of silence in which all Ryan could hear was the sound of the engine and the noise of the water parting around them, a ferocious bellowing broke out on both sides of the torrent. It reminded him of two bulls he’d seen on opposite sides of a road, each hanging their heads over a fence and roaring the bovine equivalent of insults back and forwards.

“My money’s on our guy,” Dewar commented, grabbing the back of one of the seats to stop himself being pitched forward as the Land Rover rolled over what felt like a very large rock in the riverbed and tilted alarmingly.

“Twenty quid on the other one,” Lyle countered. “Your guy might be big, but mine looks like he could be nippier on his feet.”

In spite of their situation, Ryan couldn’t hold back a snort of incredulous laughter. The capacity of soldiers to lay bets on anything under the sun was well known, but this was extreme, even by their standards.

Without needing to be told, Kermit did his best to set the Land Rover on course to allow them to break out of the water some distance away from the T. rex on the bank they were now approaching. He was hoping to lead it away from the vehicle containing Cutter and the others. Once out of the water, they would have a reasonably broad shoreline to manoeuvre in and their chances would improve. They would probably be at their most vulnerable just as they emerged from the river.

The engine coughed and for a heart-stopping moment, Ryan thought Kermit had let the revs drop too far and as a result the exhaust was starting to flood, but the young soldier eased down on the throttle a bit harder and they shot out of the water. The T. rex was suddenly torn between tracking a moving prey and continuing its pissing contest with the one on the other side. Quick decisions clearly weren’t its strong point and they rapidly put some clear air between them before Kermit brought the vehicle around in a wide sweep to face back upstream and waited for further instructions.

“Hold steady a moment,” Ryan said, trying to gauge what the hell might happen next. “Dewar?”

“Wait,” the mercenary advised.

Ryan thumbed the switch on the radio and to his amazement it was still working, despite the large quantity of water they had taken on board. “Cutter, hold position.” He hesitated a moment and then added, “Have you lot started a betting pool yet?”

Cutter’s laugh crackled through the handset. “Abby’s money’s on the one on the other side, but Stephen fancies the wee one over here.”

Ryan could hear Stephen in the background calmly suggesting that Cutter rephrased that and the soldier was left wondering at what point in the last couple of years the civilians on the team had ended up quite as crazy as their minders.

“Here comes Godzilla,” said Dewar, as the creature on the far side of the river planted one enormous foot into the water.

Three strides took it to the centre of the river. It stopped, the water foaming up around lower limbs the side of tree trunks, and let out a roar that exceeded anything they’d heard so far.

“Attention seeking wee bugger,” commented Cutter over the still-open radio channel.

“He has an odd definition of wee,” Lyle said still grinning, in spite of the blood oozing from his injured leg. Ryan knew the lieutenant was as high as a kite on a mix of adrenaline and endorphins and almost certainly wouldn’t even be feeling the pain yet.

More roaring from the T. rex that Ryan was now thinking of as King Kong greeted what it was clearly seeing as an incursion into its territory. If the two dinosaurs kept their attention focussed on each other, there was a chance Kermit could start to edge the Land Rover forward. The two beasts were now staring at each other, heads waving again, the muscles in their strong necks rippling under their leathery hides. One lunged forward, teeth snapping. The other swayed to one side and so began a fighting dance of almost impossible ferocity combined with a grace that was surprising in creatures so huge.

“Time to take a chance,” Dewar quietly, eyes intent on what was happening on the riverbank.

“Cutter, start moving,” Ryan instructed. They still had one rifle grenade left that they could use to buy some time if needed and now looked like it was as good as it was going to get. He was also conscious of the fact that Cutter had injured men on board and he still didn’t know whether Blade had regained consciousness, although he doubted that the others would have been making jokes if he’d actually died. He didn’t think the civilian members of the team would go quite that far. Not yet, anyway.

It was impossible to hear the sound of the other Land Rover’s engine starting up over the noise the two tyrannosaurs were making and Ryan watched as Cutter slowly pulled away then gathered speed. The fight was still in its early stages and no serious blood had been spilt yet, but the two beasts were wholly focussed on each other as they trampled the soft ground of the riverbank under their enormous feet.

Ryan exchanged a glance with Dewar, raising his eyebrows questioningly. In response to the mercenary’s nod he ordered, “OK, Kermit, let’s shift.”

Their progress seemed painfully slow, but in reality they were soon travelling as fast as they dared without attracting undue attention. The creatures were still circling each other, lunging back and forwards, tails providing counter-balance to the movement of their upper bodies and on one occasion coming far too close for comfort forcing Kermit to yank the steering wheel over hard and accelerate out of trouble.

Stringer let out a long and inventive stream of profanity and Ryan was certain he’d caught a mention of a ferret’s foreskin somewhere along the line, although the context wasn’t wholly clear, and then they were past the immediate danger and gathering more speed. Apart from Kermit, the other four passengers swivelled around to watch what was happening behind them.

The two predators appeared to be oblivious to the two Land Rovers, still intent on their own activities. Ryan watched as one lunged again and this time succeeded in getting a grip on the other one’s neck. It looked like Dewar had been right to put his money on the bigger of the two creatures…

Behind him, Lyle gave a startled yell. “I don’t bloody believe it!”

“What?” Ryan demanded, wondering what the hell was about to try to rip them apart now.

“They’re not fighting!”

“Then why has that one got its teeth buried in the other one’s neck?”

Carl Dewar started laughing. “They’re not fighting, they’re fucking!”

Their laughter was still echoing in Ryan’s ears as Kermit gunned the engine as hard as he could, every metre of ground gained by the battered vehicle carrying them towards a very welcome exit from a hostile world.

Ed Mason and his clients had come there with the intention of exploiting the riches of the past in a way that few people would even have contemplated. It had cost him and numerous other people their lives. Their bodies would have to lay unburied, food for the denizens of a hostile world. Ben Harris’s fate was unknown, but Ryan was confident that no rescue missions would be mounted. Harris had forfeited that right twice over.

As they left one anomaly behind them and accelerated across the short grass towards the one that would carry them back to the grounds of Farnley Hall, Ryan finally allowed himself to let out a sigh of relief, before announcing, “I think that buggers up the betting pool, guys.”


	15. Chapter 15

Lester stood on the steps of Farnley Hall and watched as yet another ambulance ferried more wounded to the hospital. At his side, Gillian Clement, the soon-to-be-ex-Home Secretary, paced nervously. Lester made no attempt to reassure her. He was still waiting for news of his own lover and was not minded to waste sympathy on her.

Claudia had accompanied the ambulance in the hope of minimising any mention of dinosaurs and, in the absence of Ed Mason to issue any instructions, Sandra Willoughby had decided that co-operation was the best policy. Lester had been furnished with a full list of her employer’s clients and it was already clear that the man had gathered extensive information on the anomalies. Lester’s mind was already whirling with possibilities, even if all he wanted at that particular moment was the safe return of his field team.

“There’s nothing more we can do here, sir,” Ditzy commented at his side. “Finn and I may as well take a couple of the lads back in there and see what we can do.”

Lester nodded. A helicopter had ferried in back-up troops from the ARC and, in the absence of Ryan, Stringer and Lyle, the medic was now the ranking officer. A military cordon had been set up around the bunker containing the anomaly and the heavy metal doors remained open. The soldiers were well equipped to deal with any unwelcome incursions and the way had been left often for a rapid exit from the past should it be needed.

As the two men jumped into the Land Rover, the radio in Lester’s hand cracked into life. “We have incoming!” declared one of the guards.

Lester’s heart rate rocketed and, without a second thought, he took the steps two at a time and hauled open the door of the Land Rover. “Room for a little one?” he enquired.

* * * * *

As Finn accelerated across the well-tended parkland, Lester saw two battered Land Rovers burst out through the open doors of what he now knew to be the Faraday cage that had shielded the anomaly from registering on Connor’s detection devices. Lester hadn’t as yet discovered how much information had been deliberately leaked to Mason by Clement or whether indiscreet pillow-talk had simply been fed back to him by her husband, but he was sure it was no coincidence that the anomaly had been shielded from prying eyes by a method that also kept it from coming to the knowledge of the ARC.

The two vehicles came to a halt, disgorging a motley collection of soldiers and civilians. He heard Cutter’s yell of, “Medic!” and Ryan’s almost simultaneous order for someone to close the doors.

Ditzy dived for the lead vehicle while Lester’s eyes anxiously raked across every face, noting that Julia Denton was climbing shakily out of Land Rover even as he searched for the person who mattered most to him. The rear doors of the second vehicle opened and a warm rush of relief flooded through him. Lester could tell from the careful way Lyle exited the vehicle that his lover was clearly in pain, but he was alive and moving under his own steam, that was what counted. The lieutenant raised a hand in greeting and Lester allowed himself a slight smile and a nod.

In a matter of minutes, the convoy was on its way again. Another ambulance was still on standby at the hall and paramedics were soon working on the injured. From a rapid conversation with Ryan, Lester gathered that both Blade and one of the mercenaries had been injured in a crash that had ended Ed Mason’s own life. Lester couldn’t say he was sorry about that latter fact. The situation would be hard enough to unpick as it was, but with Mason dead, at least they would have free run of Farnley Hall.

Trays of tea and coffee appeared and were passed around the front steps still thronged with people all waiting for news of the injured. Julia Denton waved away her son’s concern and promptly demanded a packet of cigarettes and a very large whisky. She sat down and leaned against one of the Doric pillars, her face looking older and more lined than Lester remembered.

“Julia, are you all right?” he asked.

She looked up at him and mustered a half-smile. “I’ll live, which is more than can be said for a lot of people.”

Sandra Willoughby arrived with cigarettes and whisky. The latter was in a cut-glass decanter, served on a silver tray. Mason’s personal assistant clearly believed that some standards needed to be maintained even in the face of complete chaos. Julia drained the glass in one swallow and the other woman poured another of equal size while Julia lit a cigarette with hands that appeared remarkably steady for a woman who looked like she’d taken a trip to hell and back.

Julia took a long drag and exhaled smoke through her nose with evident pleasure. “Christ, I needed that.” She looked up at Lester and then looked over to where Gillian Clement had her head buried in her husband’s shoulder. Tony Porter put his arms around her and gently led her back into the house. “He’s a brave man, even though I don’t like what he does for fun. I take it you’ve found your leak, James.”

He nodded and sat down on the steps next to her. “Porter is an old hunting buddy Mason’s. Gillian Clement has had full access to information from the project, which is no doubt how Mason managed to get his little construction project finished before Connor brought the detector on line.” There was another glass on the tray so he poured himself a drink and threw it down his throat, heedless of how good a malt it was. “And you’ve got your story.”

Julia took another pull on her cigarette and laughed, her voice rough with smoke and alcohol. “Don’t bait me, James, it’s not gentlemanly.” The second whisky followed the first almost as quickly. Her hazel eyes gleamed with suspicious brightness, making Lester wonder what had happened on the other side of the anomaly.

“I’m shagging your son,” Lester said quietly. “I’m allowed to bait you. It’s what prospective mothers-in-law are for. So, are we going to see this lot all over the newspapers, Julia?”

“You’d slap a DA notice on me before I’d even started typing the copy.”

“You paper the bogs with them, as your son so elegantly put it.”

A pair of very tired eyes met his. “Yes, I do. But not this time. I don’t say this very often, James, and if you quote me on it, I shall deny every word, but I was wrong. This – whatever it is – is too fucking dangerous. So I’ll keep my mouth shut. But I promise you one thing: if our government – or anyone else, for that matter – makes any attempt to exploit what lies on the other side of those things in any way, shape or form, I will explode the whole bloody story via every possible outlet. And that’s not a threat, it’s a promise.”

Lester held her gaze. “If that happens, Julia, I will help you to break the news. And that’s a promise as well. Gillian Clements’ career is over, but she’s not the only one who can’t be trusted. It’s my job to keep this project out of the hands of the sharks.”

Julia Denton lit another cigarette from the butt of the first one. “You’re a good man, James Lester. Now do something useful and lend me your phone. I need to call my husband and my friend. I think I’ve got some grovelling to do.”

* * * * *

Several hours later, Farnley Hall still resembled a military barracks more than a stately home. Soldiers still seemed to be everywhere and it looked very much like Cutter would have to be prised out of Mason’s office like a limpet off a rock. He was poring over the data Connor had retrieved from various computers and spouting facts and figures that meant little or nothing to Lester, but which Cutter would no doubt insist on inflicting on him at the earliest opportunity.

Claudia had reported from the hospital that Anne Churchill and Charlie Marsh were both recovering from their injuries and, apart from bad concussion, whiplash and a dislocated shoulder, so was Blade. On top of that, Ricky Carey had six broken ribs and was being kept in for observation. The tally of the dead was somewhat longer and would no doubt take all of Claudia’s considerable skill to smooth over, but it was felt unlikely that anyone would be talking about their experiences. Mason’s remaining clients were lucky to be alive and they knew it.

Lester pushed open the door to the library and found Lyle reclining on a chaise longue, resting his bandaged leg and drinking beer in the company of his fellow officers and Stephen Hart. He relayed the latest news from the hospital and accepted the beer that Stephen handed him. Lester was past the stage of worrying about having drunk too much. It was now well after midnight and rooms had been made ready for all of them.

“Thank you for what you did today, gentlemen. I gather from Cutter that matters became a little… exciting at times. I shall await your reports with interest.”

Lyle groaned. “Have a heart, darling.”

Lester smiled sweetly. “Tomorrow morning will be quite soon enough, possum.”

Lyle flipped him the finger and took another swig of his beer. “What’s going to happen to Dewar?”

“I was going to ask for your collective recommendation on that matter,” Lester admitted.

Lyle shrugged. “There’s no reason to hold him.”

Both Ryan and Stringer nodded in agreement.

Lester wasn’t surprised. He’d already been told about the part the mercenary had played in the rescue of Lyle’s mother and the various close encounters of the tyrannosaurus kind and he knew that none of his officers would be likely to want the man incarcerated. Dewar would have to be thoroughly debriefed but beyond that, Lester would make no attempt to hold him.

A wave of exhaustion rolled relentlessly over him. “I shall bid you all goodnight. I’m told by the redoubtable Mrs Willoughby that breakfast will be served from 7am.”

Lyle brushed off his attempts to lend assistance as they climbed the stairs to one of the guest bedrooms. Too tired to do anything more than simply brush his teeth, Lester flopped down onto the crisp sheets and waited for Lyle to join him. His lover laid aside any pretence at nonchalance along with his clothes and allowed himself to be drawn into Lester’s arms without protest.

“What happened to her, Jon?” he asked quietly, finally broaching the question that had been lying between them for the last few hours.

“Ben Harris lived down to his reputation,” Lyle replied quietly, clearly not able to bring himself to be more specific, even though Lester had suspected as much.

Lester closed his eyes in the darkness. “I’m sorry. Maybe if I’d let you kick some doors down earlier…”

Lyle silenced him with a light kiss. “Don’t go there, James. I know fucking well that you put your career on the line for me today. When you sanctioned the op you didn’t know about Clement’s husband being involved, did you?” Lyle took his silence for assent and continued, “If we’d got here earlier, I don’t think we would have found anything quickly enough to have made a difference. Yeah, we might have found Mason’s underground storage areas for the animals if we’d kept looking, but I doubt we’d have found the anomaly. He’d covered his tracks well enough. It’s taken the boy wonder most of the evening just to hack into his computers. So let’s not play the maybe game, it’ll just do your fucking head in.”

Lester returned the kiss, comforted by his lover’s calm pragmatism. “What did Ditzy say?” He knew that the medic had spent some time with Julia, although the woman had obstinately refused any hospital treatment.

“That’s she’s a tough old bird who shouldn’t be anywhere near as healthy as she is considering her penchant for booze and fags,” Lyle murmured as he pillowed his head on Lester’s shoulder and slipped an arm around his waist. Lester listened as Lyle’s breathing deepened and his lover started to drift into sleep.

The mopping up from Ed Mason’s little venture was only just beginning but Lester was confident that the Prime Minister would be entirely cooperative on all matters of importance.

And it looked very much like Abby Maitland was just about to acquire her very own zoo.


End file.
